The Reapers Apprentice
by Max Shockley
Summary: Story follows the character Max Shockley (If you are from the forums: Me), as he progresses through the challenges he faces in the Nevada wasteland. Along the way he encounters figures of his past and others from a greater level than he. But time will tell what his destiny shall really be.
1. Part One: Who am I? What Is My Destiny?

The Reaper's Apprentice

Part One:

I get up from the debris of the table I was smashed through, brushing off the dust and splinters off of my clothes and readjusting my shades as I do so. Almost as soon as I am up on my feet a wave of dizziness and pain nearly sends me to the floor again. My head is killing me, I reach up and feel the back of my head, relived when I see that my hand wasn't covered in blood. I guess getting thrown across the room and into a table isn't the best way to prevent a headache.

'I'm just an agent.' I thought to myself 'I'm lucky to be alive'

But as soon as I finish the thought a voice whispers from a corner of my mind:

'Is that all you want? To JUST be alive? What about your dreams? The power you crave? Are you sure you are going to get it from the AAHW?'

I shake my head to disperse the thought and I look at the bloodied remains of what once was my squad. My allies, once agents like me, but now body parts and gore smeared into the floors and the walls by the Rouge MAG. Luckily the MAG had already been killed a few rooms over by the ATP Soldats. The faint sounds of cheers and reloading weapons giving me this information. I step over the remains of my allies and as I reach the door it opens and an ATP Engineer steps through. I step to the side of the hall and the Engineer turns towards me, his HUD inside of his mask lighting up as he does so. After a few moments he says:

"Max Shockley, Agent, Identification Number 1671331"

I salute and stand at attention as he scans all of the data off of a chip that is embedded in my upper arm. As he is running his scan my thoughts wander. It would be great if I could join the ATP program. This attack has been the 5th one I have survived since I had joined the AAHW, yet not one person has offered to enlist me into ATP. Hell, not one person has asked about upgrading me, everyone in my squad was an upgraded agent but me. I still wear the black shades that every newbie agent wears. I wish I could just have the chance to become someone stronger. But as soon as that thought enters my mind the voice crawls out of the dark corner of my mind, whispering:

'But that is not what you want…you want to live as you want, you want to become strong as you want…..you should be able to kill who you want!'

Soon the Engineers HUD darkens and a slight electronic chirp is heard, indicating that the scan has finished. The Engineer says:

"Is everything alright? You have been scowling at me ever since I initiated the scan."

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts and submerging the dark voice once more. I say to the Engineer:

"I'm fine, my head is just killing me, that's all. I got tossed around pretty bad."

He nods and says: "I can understand that. In fact I can still remember the first time I had to fight a MAG. But I had my ATP training back when it happened."

He chuckles a little and continues: "You are pretty lucky to be alive, you know that?"

He reaches into his satchel hanging on his side and he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and hands them to me. He then reaches back into the bag again and pulls out a clip board and starts writing something on it saying as he does so:

"You can have these, I have a few more packs at the barracks that I am saving for later." He finishes writing the note and tears the sheet off, saying as he does so: "You can take the rest of the day off, we can clean up here." I nod and I put the pack of smokes into my jacket and I take the slip of paper that he had handed me.

He says "This is just a slip detailing this event. It's nothing major, but when you report in tomorrow you need to give this to your stations medic." He puts away the clipboard and he says "Also, before you go, you need to find your weapon and turn it back into the armory. Any blades you have on you, you can take with you if you want to keep them."

I nod and I salute one last time and the Engineer continues on his way to the next room in the building. As he leaves I move to a small stack of barrels in the room, the only thing to not be touch in the MAG's rampage. I remember that when I was picked up and thrown across the room my gun slipped from my hand and fell around here. And as I move one of the barrels I find the nice matte black finish of the butt my Five-SeveN. I squat down and pick up the gun, unloading the magazine, checking the action and the slide. Even though it took a few scrapes it is relatively undamaged; I reload it and I holster it in my jacket and I walk out the door into the courtyard of the complex that I am stationed at.

The Armory is in the building across from the one I just left. Surprisingly that building had been attacked as well, not by a MAG, but by a small horde of Abominations. Recently, attacks have been happening nearly three times a week, but we have been attacked for months now, ever since the nexus core went haywire, around the time I joined the AAHW.

As the door closes behind me I look to my right and an upgraded agent is sitting against the wall, the butt of a lit cigarette in between his two fingers. From the huge bandaged gash on his side I guess he must have been one of the first to be attacked and also one of the first ones to get any sort of medical treatment. He raises the near extinguished cigarette to his mouth, taking one last puff, his hand clenched and shaking as he does so.

I walk over to him, and I take the pack of cigarettes out of my pocket as I get near him. He looks up at me as he squashes the butt underneath his foot. I hand the whole pack to him. He glances at the pack and then back to me, pointing at his chest; the question stated but not said:

'For me?'

I nod and he takes the pack gratefully from my hand, but before I could turn and leave he stands up, reaches into his pocket and hands me 3 dollars in coins. I nod and I say "Thanks." He shrugs and sits back down and goes back to smoking his new pack of cigarettes.

Unlike most members of the AAHW, I had never really taken up the habit of smoking, mostly because of the scar on the left side of my face. Whenever I try to smoke, the scar starts to feel like it's being burned with a hot piece of metal. So I decided to drop smoking all together.

I start walking towards the Armory building, the blasted and ravaged remains of the abominations becoming regular landmarks on the ground as I get closer to the building. I got the scar when I first joined the AAHW, a little over 9 months ago. The scar starts just below my left eye and ends on my neck a few inches down from my ear. I can remember the day and the pain of those next few weeks just as well as when it first happened.


	2. Part Two: How Did I Get here?

Part Two:

Like every other member of the AAHW I started out as a grunt, and like all grunts I had to go though some of the toughest training the agency could offer. The majority of the training was to make us follow The Goals, never backing down and fighting no matter how many of our comrades fell. 6 months of training went into making me the perfect Agent; or so I thought. Even though all of the training made those of us that finished the training unable to stop fighting, it did make those of us that even survived to the end hate each other much more. But now a days those that finished training with me don't resent me anymore. There all dead. All of the attacks that we have been though have killed them off by now.

The first month of training involved combat training, and the other 5 were to make us unstoppable. But we should have trained more with combat, that's why all of us keep on dying. The 5 months of training that made us impervious to retreat was literally torture. Only the strong would survive long enough to make it to the end, anyone who was weak died at the hands of our so called trainers. But the resentment towards me did not start then, it started in the first few weeks of training for combat.

It had been a tough day of weapons training, but I had turned out to be one of the best shooters and melee fighters in my training barracks group. I always had a great fondness for weaponry, even before I knew of the AAHW, but it turns out that I had a gift for them as well. Most of the other grunts were returning from the shooting range, filing into our new barracks, all of them spent and tired from the 3rd day of training. Each of us have a separate nook that we keep our belongings and whatever we are given by the AAHW administrators. I had already turned the light off in my nook, the one thing on my mind is sleep. The cots that we were given weren't too comfortable, but that didn't matter when you were as tired as I was. Most of my other barracks mates were still up, talking, playing cards with each other or smoking cigarettes that they managed to swipe from an administrator, but I didn't feel the need to get up and join them.

After a few hours, around midnight, almost everyone had settled down and a soft silence had filled the barracks. I had been dozing, near the peace of sleep ever since 10:30, and now that everyone was quiet I was wide awake. I lay there, staring up at the cement ceiling, unable to fall back asleep.

I get up from the cot and I stretch my arms and legs. Something isn't right, it feels a bit too quiet for this time of night. I peek my head out of my nook and look at the end of the barracks. Usually Eric James is up at this time, pawning cigarettes to the other recruits and working out with others on how to get more contraband into his hands. But this time his light is off and no one is at his door with a small wad of cash for a pack of smokes.

Something is definitely wrong. I go back inside of my nook and I lace up my boots, throw on a light jacket and walk back out. I walk towards the door of the barracks, checking the nooks as I go, but instead of sleeping people there are just cots, empty, except for sheets and pillows. I hesitate at the door. I need some sort of weapon…but grunts are not allowed to take any sort of weapon out of the buildings we defend. I walk back to the other end of the barracks, where our bathrooms are. I remember that when we first came here a small group of Engineers were repairing the piping systems. I am sure that they might have left some of the old pipes behind. I go to a small closet set in the corner of the bathroom. I open the door, and leaning against the far corner there were about a dozen of long, rusted pipes.

I rummage through the pipes, only 3 in a good enough quality to use and only one of those short enough for me to really use against an attacker. I pick up this pipe, a small elbow section still attached to the end. I twirl the pipe around my wrist, the balance of the weapon awful of course. I look around the closet, trying to find anything else I could use, searching the shelves and checking the locker that is also in the closet. But after five minutes I only find a roll of duct tape. I think to myself:

'I guess this is the best I am going to find'

I wrap a few strips of the tape along the pipe, protecting my hands from the rusted flakes that encrust the surface of the metal. I walk out of the bathroom and I open the door to the barracks. I look outside into the darkness and I whisper to myself:

"I am as ready as I will ever be…I just hope there really is nothing wrong."

The door closes behind me and I tighten my grip on the pipe, I look around the deserted courtyard, the lights in all of the buildings off and not a sound to be heard, well, except for the distant moan of zeds. But they are miles away from us. That's not what I have to worry about now; this base is never this quiet at night. As I look at the building at the far end of the compound I notice a light coming from one of the side doors. That is where I should check first.

As I reach the door, the voices of my training group come from inside. Suddenly the door opens and I duck behind a crate that was placed next to the door. Four grunts walk out of the door, all of them carrying handguns. I look down at the pipe that is my weapon…I won't survive long if I don't get a better weapon. I press myself up against the crate, squeezing myself deeper into the shadows cast by the light fixed over the door. One of the grunts turn to the other three and says:

"So, why do we need to get these guns?"

A 2nd grunt says "Because, we are going to big reward from Eric once we steal the rest of the weapons from the armory."

The 1st grunt nods and says "But what about Max? Isn't he going to get a part of this?"

The 3rd grunt laughs and says "Don't show any kindness to him! Max is already rubbing our noses in his skills. He doesn't deserve anything that we are going to get!"

The first grunt nods and says "Yeah…your right, that cheeky bastard has had a power trip ever since we started training!"

The 4th grunt laughs and says "Besides, John has gone back to the barracks to deal with Sleeping Beauty!"

The four of them walk off, picking back up the crates that they had set down when they left building. I stand up from the cover of shadows, looking off at the 4 figures burdened by the weight of the weaponry, multiple questions bouncing around my head:

"Why? Is that how I come off as? A man that is better than everybody?"

I shake my head, warding off these thoughts. I have to deal with John now, if he reports that I have left the barracks then they are going to drop everything and try and find me…these idiots thought to betray me and the organization. But I am still going to fight back. This plot is just what I need to hone my skills. I run back to the barracks, the door still open and the main lights now turned on. As I step down the 3 stairs into the room, I see that no one is there. I walk down the length of the room, checking the nooks as I go. As I reach the door to the bathroom, I notice that the light in there is on as well. I open the door and just as I am about to step though, John lunges out of the shadows of a nook, slashing a knife into my face. The blade of the knife is dull and chipped, but that didn't stop it from digging deep into the skin of my cheek. The tip of the blade slashes down and ends at my neck, the pain excruciating, the blood flowing from my face coating the floor as a stumbled away from the attack.

I fall against the wall, my weapon falling from my hand is I crash to the ground. John stands over me, the blade dripping my blood. And if that wasn't enough, when he opens his mouth all he could do is gloat at my failure:

"HAHA, I guess it's all for show Max! Where is your skill now, you weakling!"

The pain…the pain…its all that I can think about. I can't do this, I can't move. All I can do is sit and watch this asshole gloat at my pain. I can hear my own heart beating over the sound of John's bolsterus words.

This is it…I am going to die.

All sounds fade away and my head rolls to the side, I have given up. Just as I am about to close my eyes and let go I notice something in the shadows of my nook. The shadows are getting darker, and a shape breaks away from them, and then the voice snakes out of the darkness into my ears. A voice that I have longed to hear since I was 17 but now I dreaded.

"Is that it? You are going to give up, just like that?"

The shadow leans up against the wall, the light scattering away as it touches the door frame of the nook and my eyes widen as I recognize who it is. The voice crops up again, a mocking tone spouting from the shadows this time.

"Heh, such an aspiring man you came out to be. Selling off half of your soul in this life and ten thousand years of your afterlife for power. But now here you are, bleeding all over the floor like a slaughtered pig! Looks like your dreams are worthless now and I get to collect on a hundred centuries of servitude!"

I shake my head and I grab for the pipe, but John kicks it away from my hand. Before the pipe can stop scattering away, John stomps on my hand. I can hear the bones in my fingers crack and nearly break. John laughs again and then kicks me in the face saying:

"You think you are going to deus ex machina this situation? You are already half dead as it is!"

John crouches down and places the blade on my neck. I growl and I rear up and I butt the top of my head into his face, breaking his nose. John yells out in pain and grabs his nose and stumbles away from me. I crawl towards the pipe and John rushes me and I get up on one of my knees and smash the end of pipe into Johns jaw. John falls on the ground and I get up and I start swinging the pipe into his skull again and again, shouting:

"Guess what I just did!?" *Smash* "Huh?!"

"That is what you would call deus ex machina!" *Smash*

"But that isn't the point you bastard. I am going to take what I want, and at this moment it's your soul! *Smash*

My anger is getting the best off me, I can't help but smash l the pipe into his head a few more times. I only stop when the end of the pipe started to bend as I start hitting the concrete beneath his head. I back away, out a breath and still bleeding from the gash in my face. I drop the pipe and now I can think clearly. I need to sew up the wound. I rush back into my nook and I grab a patch kit out from under my cot. Luckily all of us were issued a standard kit for repairing and cleaning our equipment. I grab a needle and a length of thread and finally a lighter. I sit down on the cot and I spark a flame from the lighter and I heat up the tip of the needle. After a few seconds I thread the needle and I start to stitch the wound close. 4 minutes later though gritted teeth, sweat, blood and many tears, I finally sewed up the wound that I will carry for the rest of my life.

I put the needle and the lighter away and I take a large bandage and I cover up the gapping fissure on my cheek. I get up from my cot and I walk outside, but as I leave the shadows of the nook the shadow follows me and the voice says:

"That's what I want to see! A man who can really fight for his own survival! Also, for the soul you have taken just now, you have ten years taken off your contract. And I will continue to take off more years, but only as long as you continue with your goals. Do not fail me, or it will be your soul that will be reaped before your time is to come to an end!"

I turn back to the nook, saying nothing, I just shake my head and leave the darkness behind. I walk to the decimated body of my attacker. I pick up the pipe, but the end is so damaged that I can't really use it anymore. I toss it to the side and I pick up the battered knife and I grip it tight in my hand and I say:

"I will do what must be done, but my goals of the past have died, and I must do what I must here and now, in the present. And that is how it will stay."

The shadow fades back on itself, and I walk out of the barracks. I still have work to do, and an agency to defend!


	3. Part Three: Where Shall I Go?

Part Three:

As I walk out of my barracks, I realized I have changed into something else; or at least into something that I once was. No, I am determined to make my stand and fight, if not for the agency, for my own survival. I look back across the courtyard, the light over the door to the armory still on: that is where I will go, from there I can figure out what else is going on.

I look around the court yard, making sure no one else is around and then I sprint across the open ground to the armory. As soon as I make it to the door I slow down, pausing beside the door, listening for any sign that my traitorous comrades will come out. But after a few moments not a sound is heard from inside the building.

I ready my blade and I open the door, sprinting to the first bit of cover in the room. I slam into the crate at full speed, expecting the sound of bullets tearing into my hiding place to erupt from the other side of the room. But, again, I did not run into what I expected to face. I glance over the crate at the half full armory. I shake my head as I get up from my cover and I say to myself:

"I don't understand, they said they were going to empty the whole armory…why haven't they taken the rest of the guns?"

I walk over to the remaining weapons, but as I look at the labels below each weapon I understand why they left them: all of the guns were marked with a red tag, meaning that they were too dirty and damaged from training to properly fire a round. All of these weapons have yet to be cleaned by the ATP Engineers, which makes them useless to the others and also useless for me to use.

I shake my head and I slam the blade into one of the shelves, embedding it in the wood planking that the shelving is made of. Even though I have used most of these weapons, I have no idea where the cleaning kits for the weapons are. Even if I did know where and how to get them; I would have no idea how to take any of them apart to clean them.

I sigh while wrenching the knife out of the shelf and I walk back to the door of the armory, but the sound of footsteps on the other side makes me dive back behind the cover I took when I entered the room. The door opens and 3 of the grunts walk into the armory, the first one saying:

"I just don't see why we have to come back here and take the weapons that we can't even use"

The 2nd one sighs and says in an annoyed tone: "Because, the bandits will still pay for the guns anyways. It's not like they will 'inspect' our merchandise when we sell it to them anyways."

The 3rd one nods his ascent, saying: "Those bandits buy with their eyes, so what if we give them shotty weapons, it's not like what we are giving to them is any better than the crap they are using now."

The 1st one grudgingly nods but says: "Yeah, I know that much, but it's just bad business. And once they find out they are going to come back and kill us all."

The 2nd one stops in the middle of the room, his back to me as he says to the 1st grunt "That's why this must go down tonight. Compound Gamma got attacked by a horde of Zeds and MAGs a few hours ago. All of the supervisors and fighters left to help. Once the bandits realize we shorthanded them they can't do anything about it because we will be back under the guard of the ATPs and the agents."

The 1st one nods again, but he says in a worried tone "But what if Hank comes to take the weapons back? Don't you guys remember what happened at the reassignment compound? Where Hank just massacred all of the recruits like us?"

The 3rd grunt steps forward, slamming his fist into the 1st grunts face as he does so. After the 1st grunt reels away from the blow the 3rd grunt says "That's just ancient history. There hasn't been a sighting of Hank in well over 4 months. From what I heard from the ATP Soldats, that explosion over at Compound Alpha that we heard about was The Auditor killing Hank."

The 1st grunt sits back up, holding back the blood from his nose. After a few moments he says: "Yeah, but we haven't see The Auditor since then. It could be that he was killed and Hank just went off to recover."

The 2nd grunt squints at the 1st grunt and says: "You seem to have a lot of faith in hank"

The 1st grunt holds up his hands, saying: "N…no..., I uh…just think that he could have gotten away."

The 2nd and 3rd grunt glance at each other and as one they draw their guns and shoot the 1st grunt several times. I watch as he falls to the ground, the other two grunts stepping over the body and they start loading the remaining weapons into crates. I stand up from the shadows and I dash to the closest one of the grunts, stabbing him in the back as soon as I reach him, the grunt of pain and surprise escaping from his mouth before he dies. The 3rd grunt hears the sound and draws his weapon and starts firing at me. I grab grunt I just stabbed by the back of the neck, charging the last grunt with the body of his comrade, the body I'm holding soaking up his gunfire. As soon as I reach the 3rd grunt I shove the body into him, the weight of the body pulling the blade out of its back. I step forward and I stab the 3rd grunt in the neck as he falls to the ground.

I crouch down and I pick up the gun from his hand, also searching his pockets finding as I do so. Soon after rummaging around I find two more magazines. I look at the side of the gun. It's a Desert Eagle…how the body of another man managed to stop these huge bullets I have no idea, but I sure am glad that it did. I check the clip for any remaining rounds and I find that there is only one left. I shove the gun into a pocket of my jacket and I take the knife out of the neck of my last foe. I start to walk to the door of the armory, but as I passed by the body of the man they shot I am shocked to see that he is still alive.

He grabs my ankle, the last of his breath telling me: "I know he is still alive *Cough* I know he is going to take us down…don't be in His why when it happens…"

I nod to him, but I take the gun out of my pocket and fire, ending what little life the man had left. I sigh and shake my head at what I had just done; at the lives I had taken. But I can't quit to console myself now, I have to make sure I can see this through to the end. I load a clip into the Deagle as I walk out the door; I must find Eric and stop this deal, because if he is dealing with bandits it's going to have to be on the south side of the compound. I always hear the Agents complaining about the bandits hanging around the south side ruins; how they have to shoot them away from our walls. I pull the slide back on the gun, loading a round into the chamber and I start my walk to the south gates, a new objective for me to take action on.

The south gates are the least used gates. Mostly because it is nearly inaccessible due to all of the collapsed ruins, but also because of bandits, abominations and zeds…but mostly because of the ruins. But that doesn't stop the supervisors from posting a full guard on the walls every night and day.

I reach the gates, not surprised that they are wide open. As I get close to the gates, I find that the rest of the group had stolen one of our armored vehicles as well. As of right now they are unloading crates and crates of weapons off of the back of the truck. So far I can't see any bandits, but they can't be that far away from the base, mostly because the gunfire at night is a clear sign that they like to hang around our walls a lot. I crouch by the wall, from the shadows I can see that all of my squad mates are in on the ruse, all twenty of them. I lean back into the cover of the gate, wondering how I am going to fight all of them: I only have 14 bullets left…even if I can fire all of those accurately and get another clip in before they shoot me down there will be six guys left…I stay in the shadows for a few more moments, the thought of retreat and defecting the most attractive option for me to take.

Finally I decide against it, a life as a coward is a life I cannot live. I get up from the shadows and I turn towards the betrayers, running out of the gates and into the ruins of the city. I finally make it into the shadows of one of the buildings on their left flank. So far I have not seen Eric, but my best guess is that he is still in the truck, waiting for the bandits to show up. I crouch and slowly make my way towards the truck, staying in the shadows of the rubble and crumbled chunks of building. I make it within 10 meters of the truck, the last bit of cover I can fit behind an old and rusted mailbox. About half of the group has moved forwards into the ruins a small distance away; just as our first day of training told us to do. I get up from my cover, lining up my sights on a man on top of the truck as I do so. I think his name was Jeremy or something.

I pull the trigger, the huge gun bucking back in my hands, but my first shot was true and Jeremy falls from his perch, along with the shattered remains of his skull. I sprint to my next bit of cover: a pile of Zed corpses. I crawl on my stomach to the other side of the pile and I see that everyone is alarmed at the death of one of their members, but none of them know where the shot came from. All of the men that are at the parameter start fanning out and searching their flanks, just as our training told them to do. A sudden realization dawns on me: that is why that man had faith in Hank, he was part of our opposition; he was a sleeper cell in our organization leaking information to our enemies.

But there is nothing that he can tell anymore. But I forget those thoughts as man steps close to my cover. I grab him by the ankle, pulling him down, stabbing him in the stomach and then in the chest as he falls. But wounds that I inflict on him did not stop him from screaming out in alarm before dying by the blade I thrust into his heart. I prop myself up into crouch, behind the cover of the bodies and I start firing at the remaining men that make up the perimeter. I unload my clip, dropping back down as soon as the final round leaves the chamber. I reload my last magazine as I hit the ground, pulling back the slide as I prepare to get back up again. When I peek over the mound of bodies I see that all of my rounds found their marks, but only 4 of my enemies are dead. One of them has a bullet in his leg, taking him out of the fight; the other had a graze along his shoulder, but he knows where I am and he opens fire with his MAC-11, the bullets causing me to take cover yet again. After his first volley I get up from my shelter and I sprint back into the building that I was hiding in the first time. The man with the MAC-11 sees me running and he follows, calling out to the others that he found me. Once he gets 11 feet way from the building I pull my knife out of my jacket, and for the sake of being cool I flip the knife and catch it blade first. I step back into the doorway I hurl the knife at him, the blunted blade gouging into his chest, dropping him like a stone. I sprint back outside, shooting as I go, killing 5 more men and emptying my last magazine. I drop the Deagle mid stride dropping and sliding past the man I killed with the knife I threw a few paces later; grabbing up his weapon and my knife as I slide by, but as the blade begins to slide out of his chest the blade snaps off at the hilt, making the weapon useless. I toss away the handle, diving behind a half-collapsed wall, bullets flying past me and smashing into the ground behind me.

As the volley finishes I jump up, firing a few bursts as I do so, that drops 4 more of the traitors. I duck back down as they start to fire more rounds. During the time of the onslaught of lead and copper I check my magazine…only 12 bullets left. Soon the latest volley of gunfire ends and I jump up yet again, lining up my sights on the 6 remaining men surrounding the truck. But I stop when I see one man. Its Eric, and what he is holding stops my finger from pressing down on the trigger. Cradled in his hands is an MG-42, a huge band of ammunition draped over his arm and feeding into the mechanism of the massive weapon. Eric shouts to me:

"You know why this is called Hitler's Buzz saw, don't you? Because that pile of bricks you're hiding behind is going to get cut apart if you don't throw down your weapon and put your hands up!"

I sigh, letting the gun drop from my hands as I do so. As it clatters to the ground I step over the bullet-scarred bricks that I was using as cover and I start walking towards Eric, my hands crossed behind my head. The five men beside Eric move towards me, their rifles pointed at my head. Eric, shrugs off the weight of the gun and sets it down on the ground. He then draws a .357 magnum from his pocket and he points it at me as well. Eric steps towards me, so close to me that the end of the barrel was pressed into my glaring eyes. Eric says:

"You know, all your skill and all of the luck in the world will not stop us. We are going to sell these guns and we are going to make a killing off the profits."

I glare back at Eric and I say "What are you going to do when the rest of the agency comes back, finds most of us dead and the armory empty of all working guns. Sure you might tell them that you got attacked, but I left a recording somewhere on base to let all of them know what really happened."

Eric looks to his men, but he drops his head and he starts laughing, shaking his head as he continues to laugh. He finally brings up his head, he looks into my eyes and he says "You know what, Max?" Eric pulls the hammer down on the pistol and he says with a tone of steel in his voice "I call your bluff."

I laugh at his anger, glad that he had taken such offence to what he said. I laugh until I run out of breath, once I catch it back I say: "That's not a bluff…it's a lie!" Eric growls at me and says:

"You know what, you are a real pain in my ass. You with your sarcasm and your 'holier than thou' attitude, I am surprised that no one has killed you already!" My grin falls off my face in time with my arms falling to my sides and I retort:

"But that is not how I am. I am just really good at doing my job. That is all there is to it; that is all I am going to leave it as. So you pull that trigger. You pull it and live with the regret of cutting the life of an innocent man short and pushing him into thousands of years of hell. And you will live with that for the next few hours of your life. Because I know I did what I had to do to serve command, and that all you knew to do was to grease your sweaty palms."

Eric balls up his fist and smashes it into my stomach. I keel over, trying to stay up on my feet, but I still fall to the ground, the taste of blood and dirt in my mouth. Eric kicks me in the stomach again and again. But I get back up on my feet, spreading my arms out from my sides saying: "Well, pull that trigger. If you think you can, pull that trigger, because I am ready to meet my maker any time, unlike a coward like you."

Eric punches me again, but this time right in the face, right on top of my wound. I drop to the ground again, the pain making me cover my ears as the squeal of pain becomes the one thing I can hear. Eric grabs me by the collar of my jacket, puts the gun up to my temple and says "Well that was a mighty bold statement, but I know that as you die, you are still going to wish that you had stayed in bed and been killed by John."

I shake my head and say: "Give the chance to do it again, the only thing I would have done different, was shoot you with the last 12 rounds I had." Eric chuckles and says:

"Although I hate you, I must admit…" Eric moves the gun and puts it right to my forehead and continues: "…Those are some pretty ballsy words. Goodbye Max, I'll see you in hell."

I nod and I stay silent, and I think about closing my eyes. But something makes me keep them open, I guess I would rather see my death coming now. But that doesn't make me like it any more. I watch Eric put pressure on the trigger, but then he stops, and his hand and weapon falling to his side. I watch as he falls to the ground, the front of his chest covered in blood and a gaping wound where his left arm used to be. I look up, the thirty Soldats I see on the ramparts of the walls, a reliving sight to behold; each of them holding M-14's with scopes, primed and ready to take down the rest of my traitorous allies.

I drop to the ground and I roll away as the Soldats begin to fire round after round into the final five dissenters. Soon the gunfire is over and I lean back against the armored truck, letting out a huge sigh of relief as my back touches the cool metal…I had survived. All thanks to the agency that I supported. I get up and I look down at Eric's corpse and I say:

"Dissenter be damned…"

I stumble around the truck. My hands over my head just in case the Soldats think I am one of them. After 10 steps, the riflemen don't fire, but I keep my hands up until I reach the gates. As soon as I pass through the gates 4 ATP engineers stop me, two of them holding medical pouches and the other two holding AR-15's. I stop, raising my hands above my head yet again. One of the Engineers with the medical supplies takes a syringe and jabs me in the thigh with it, after a few moments I feel so tired, but all of the pain fades away as well as most of reality. I can just barely hear one of the other Engineers say

"You've done a great service to us. But we had heard of the plot 3 days ago. You effort will be commended, but you are far from finishing your training. When you wake up you will feel much better, and you will be in another compound. Good luck, and Auditor help you if you manage to survive to become an agent." But as soon as he finishes the sentence my legs collapse out from under me, my body falling into a dark, dreamless oblivion.


	4. Part Four: What Shall I Do?

Part Four:

The second compound I was transferred to was a larger training ground, with 8 other training groups stationed there. Here I was more or less accepted into the general population, but the scar a bore rarely made me anyone's friend or ally. However, I completed all of my training without any further incidents and I finally became an agent, from there I transferred to my currant compound: Compound Zeta.

Compound Zeta lays at the very edge of AAHW territory, near the edge of the ruins of another abandoned city. Compared to most, the compound is very small, made up of only ten buildings, only four of those housing any major supplies or technologies that make us any different from the run of the mill bandits.

I walk into the armory, the abominations attack halted right at the door. The Armory is always guarded by ATP Soldats and GO3LM's (A huge difference from my training compound), so the attack was short lived, the abominations destroyed within seconds of entering the building. As I pass though the threshold of the door I can also see that the entire janitor unit had been called in to clean up the mess. Most grunts that make it through training that don't die, but at the same time don't pass the requirements usually sign back on to be janitors or vendors. But they still have their share of hardships whenever the base is attacked.

Compound Zeta is also one of the few bases that does not have a complete wall build around the compound, because the compound is meant to draw attackers away from the other compounds…also because the walls were never completely build due to a lack of funding from central command. Our compound also has the highest concentration of Class Two Mercs, hired out to make sure that the majority of the enemy is shot down on the way here.

Most of the Mercs that I've seen are very reclusive and preferred to stay on top of the buildings they are stationed on top of. None of us really see the Mercs unless they are in the dining hall, walking from the dining hall or to the dining hall. From what I can tell they are a really closed off group, the only thing keeping them here is a weekly paycheck from command and free rein over the dining hall.

As I make it past the horde of janitors and blood spattered hallways I see that the doors to the Weapon Depot is still guarded by 4 GO3LM's. I never really tried talked to the GO3lM's beyond asking about where to go or what day it was, but the armor that they wear makes it pretty hard for me to understand what they say anyways. I skirt past their steel clad bodies, none of them giving so much as a glance as I step to the Depot vender. The vender looks up from the weapon he had disassembled and says in a monotone:

"I see you have brought back your weapon. Place it on the desk."

I reach into my jacket and I place the Five-SeveN on the table. The Vendor grabs the weapon, unloads it and begins breaking it down into pieces. As he does this I reach into my jacket and I place all of the clips I had on the table, all three of them completely full. As the vendor takes apart the gun, the vendor which I am beginning to suspect is one of the ATP clones from the science division. The clones are really the same as anyone else, except that they have no sense of humor and no emotion in their voice. I really wish I could join the ATP program. They are the only ones with any actual freedom.

Agents are allowed to take any weapon they want out of the armory, as long as they have the money to "buy" a weapon. If you buy a weapon and you're an agent, before you can go anywhere off the compound or go back to the barracks you have to deposit it back at the Armory, unless it is some sort of melee weapon.

Now, if you are an ATP, you get to have your own private room, first servings in the dining hall (After the Mercs of course), a bigger bonus on getting kills, and the ability to actually own a weapon. Being an ATP Engineer or Soldat is one hundred times better than being an agent. If I managed to get into that program I would love to be assigned to the Armory; being able to clean, take apart and test fire weapons all day long would be my dream job. But how to get into the program, most of the Soldats and Engineers I know were recommended by other ATPs, I guess it is just a waiting game. Hopefully in the next few months I can get the rank up.

I shake myself out of my daydream when I notice that the ATP Clone has finished cleaning the gun and then started to put it back together. As he does so he says:

"Is there anything else that you want before you go?"

I nod and I say:

"I need my kit that I gave to you a few days ago."

The Engineer puts down the pieces of the weapon and walks through a back door that leads to a larger part of the armory. After a few minutes he comes back with a gray nap sack, patched in many places and stained on the bottom where it had been rested in one too many dirty places. As the Engineer sets it down he says:

"From what I found out when I searched this bag, there are no forbidden materials, but the materials inside do come with a cost for me to hold for you."

I sigh and reach into my jacket pocket and I ask: "How much do you need?"

He pushes the bag across to the table to me and he says "I need 30 dollars for the bag, and for when you bring it back I need 30 more dollars to make sure that the higher administration passes a blind eye over your kit."

I agree with his terms and I slide the sixty dollars back across the table into his hands. He picks up the cash, putting twenty dollars of it in his pocket and placing the rest in a safe mounted in the wall; taking a 30 percent cut from the deal. I think that it is always shady business, but if it means keeping what few possessions I have safe then I am more than willing to pay for it.

I sling the bag on my shoulder and I walk out of the armory, back past the GOL3Ms, past the dwindling amount of janitors and then on past the decimated remains of the Abominations, moving on to the gates that lead out into the ruins of the once thriving city. Anytime get the chance to leave the compound I take it, so that I can obtain one thing and one thing only. I walk onwards, the bodies of Zeds, Abominations and Bandits becoming more frequent as I get closer to the half-finished gates; proof that the Mercs are always watching the perimeter and making those pay for straying too close for comfort.

After a few more minutes of walking I am finally free of the oppressive atmosphere of the compound, I smile as I enter the outskirts of the city, glad to leave my home behind. I come out here for one thing: Nevada-Cola, my one true vice and the one item that they do not sell inside of the compound. So far I have found only one vending machine in the entire city, which sits next to an abandoned theater on the west side of the city. Even after all these months of me going back and forth to this wonderful machine it has always stayed stocked up with this cola, somehow. But I care not for how it is always there, I only care to drink from this oasis in my life of uncertainty.

However, there is one downside to getting this wonderful beverage: I have to walk nearly 5 miles…though a city full of monsters and people that want to kill me and eat me or to kill me and steal all of the things I have. But it is well worth it, just to go to the abandoned theater and to have a soothing drink.

I walk past the first few buildings of the city, but I see a small group of zeds in the distance, milling around an old gas station. I duck into an alley way, moving deep into the shadows so I could gear up for the journey. I shrug the pack off of my shoulders and I start sorting through the gear I have tucked away in its canvas.

Inside the bag I have a cloak, dyed black and with an array of holsters on its inside. The cloak helps me move though the shadows nearly unnoticed and has kept me from being found many times before. Also inside the bag I have ten 12 inch dirks that I use to defend myself when I leave the compounds. The dirks are specially weighted so I can throw them accurately and also use them in hand to hand combat. I gather up all of these blades and I place them inside of the cloak, each of them in their own respective sheaths. The last thing I have in the bag is grappling hook attached to a long lead of para-cord, its use in helping me escape hordes of zeds is…well…very useful.

I step out for the alley way, pulling up the hood of the cloak as I do so, the glint of my shades the only visible feature in the shadows that hide my face. I sigh, for once, truly comfortable in the danger and shadows that finally surrounds me. I begin to trek down the road, but the voice stops me:

"You can't deny it. You love the shadows and the fear you know you can project. Why don't you embrace that fact already?"

I turn around, a man in a cloak similar to mine stands in the middle of the road, except his cloak seems to twitch and wreath around his body, casting shadows further around the ground than what was natural. In his left hand he holds a scythe, the handle decorated with carvings of skulls, but the blade of the scythe is not there; the weapon seemingly without a lethal component. I, however, know better: the blade is eternally locked in shadows, making it disappear from sight. The blade can be any length that the Reaper desires, making it near impossible to block the weapon with any type of defense.

Yes, I know this Reaper well. For I am the one he is attached to for the rest of my life. I turn to face him, saying:

"I will not 'embrace' that fact. I am simply a man that serves his agency. I don't deserve to be apart from it, conforming to my own goals."

The Reaper laughs and says: "That is what you say, but not what you think. Don't try to trick me, I know your mind better than any other being, mortal or immortal. This was all part of the contract that you signed when you summoned me those five years ago."

I ball up my fist and I shout: "And you wait exactly that long to finally show up! I have done my waiting for power, though the apocalypse and the death of those close to me. I am done with our contract, since I have upheld my end of the deal and you haven't."

The Reaper points down the road and says: "You might want to stop yelling now. You have already attracted some less than favorable attention."

I unsheathe two of my blades, saying to the Reaper as I do so: "Thanks for the warning Grim. But we are going to continue this discussion later."

I sprint off towards the horde of 10 Zeds, their tattered and bloodied clothing testament to all of the people that fought them and also died at their hands. Once I get within 12 meters of the horde, I throw the blade that I hold in my left hand, its end twirling though the air until it impales itself in the eye socket of one of the Zeds. I slow down, throwing six more of the dirks, bringing down 5 more of the attackers; the last of the dirks slicing into one of the Zeds chest and spinning back off into the air. As the horde gets close still I take out another dirk, stabbing into the throat of the walking corpse, the blade punching out the back of its neck. I let go of the blade, and I step around the falling body, spinning as I do so. I pull yet another blade out from under my cloak, stabbing the blade into the temple of another Zed, I turn to the next Zed, kicking it down to the ground. The final Zed grabs me by the arm, attempting to bite into the muscle on my forearm, but I jab the blade into its teeth; the tip sliding into its brain, stopping its attack. As the zed on the ground tries to get up I start stabbing it in the chest again and again, blood flying across the cracked asphalt of the road.

I stand up from the zed that was mutilated by my own hand, the feeling of winning this small battle was great. I smile and I think to myself: 'This is going to be a great day off.'

But the feeling dies slightly as Grim steps next to me and says: "You know that you can't just shrug your goals off. Your contract has yet to be completely finished, and it won't be until you fulfill your service to me and to Death himself."

I turn to the bodies of the zeds that I slaughter, taking the knifes back up from the bodies they were embedded in. After a quick wipe with a cloth I return them to their sheathes and I start walking down the street, the sound of a storm on the horizon making the moment feel much more ominous. I say back to Grim: "And I will fulfill my service, but I am not taking any part of it in this life."

Grim catches up with me, matching my pace. He reaches into his cloak and takes out two journals, both bound in black leather. He says: "Well, that's too bad. Because all of your research has caught a few eyes and ears back home. A lot of gods are very interested in you and in the balances that you might affect in this world. You could have changed a lot if you kept to your goals…"

I look at the books grasped in his bony hands and I say to him: "Why would God be interested in me?"

Grim laughs and says: "Man, you sure have changed from all those years back. You had such concrete resolve and faith then. But now you follow you precious Agency like a sheep, but you are still a wolf, except you are one that thinks he is a sheep. What happen to your beliefs in the system that you pioneered? What happened to your power? But it doesn't matter anymore…I am sure that you will go back to you old self sometime very soon."

As we continue to walk Grim laughs more and more. These dammed Reapers, their ability to sense the future is odd and it makes you wonder if they are telling you the truth or are just voicing their thoughts. I'm sure that I will find out soon enough, but now all I care about is making it to the theater. I look back at Grim, the sight of the books has me thinking about the old me again and I say to Grim:

"By the way, how did you get those books? The last time I saw them was when I left them behind at my old home."

Grim places the books back in his cloak and he says: "It is a simple matter of going to where they were left and just picking them up. Not all things that are left behind are lost."

I laugh, but the laugh is hollow and forced. I say: "Where were you when I lost my pocket watch and my class ring? I'm sure that you could find them easily enough."

Grim smirks and says: "That is a simple matter as well: I just don't want to go get them."

I growl at his statement, the memories of long ago popping up the more he hangs around me. He is an arrogant and lazy asshole, but when it comes down to a fight or to sabotage there are very few that can contend with him in this world. I guess I will go back to ignoring him again. I have wasted enough time as it is.

Two and a half hours later I make it to the theater, fighting off another small horde of zeds and narrowly escaping another 3 hordes of abominations as I trekked here. The theater lays in a small plaza, which at some point was a shelter by some survivors. All of the entrances into the plaza are blocked off by sand backs, flipped cars and rusty lengths of razor wire. Across the plaza is the theater, the vending machine sitting just to the right of the door, and all that stands between me and the machine is just open ground and a solitary Abomination.

I take out my blades. This seems like a great time for some target practice. I start throwing the knives, one after another until I am left with just one, but I wouldn't need it: the abomination was already dead, 7 knives sticking out of its body. I take the knives out the abomination, wiping each blade before I replace them in my sheaths. I go and gather the other two knives that didn't make their mark and I say to myself: "I guess I still need more practice, seven out of ten will not save my life."

Grim steps beside me and says in a consoling tone: "You're still a hell of a lot better than you were five years ago."

I nod but I don't say anything back to him. Instead I walk to the machine, taking the coins that the Upgraded Agent gave to me as I go. Each cola costs 75 cents, so slam all of the coins in the machine and I take the four colas, placing all of them but one in my bag. I pull back my hood, snapping open the top of the can after I do so and I take a long and delightful sip of the drink. I smile as I take a breath and I say: "And the best part is that they are cold to."

I look up at one of the buildings, on top of it is a small little lean-to that I like to sit in while I drink my colas. I start for the building, looking forward to finishing my day on a good note. But as I take my first step a cold piece of metal is pressed to the back of my neck, I don't have to be an ATP to know that I have a gun to the back of my head. I stop in my tracks, the can halfway to my lips. I scramble for something to do, but if I try to kill the man he might pull the trigger when I first start to move. There is only one thing to do: talk. I say: "Am I trespassing, sir?"

The reply to the message is a sharp pain on the back of my neck and I collapse to the ground. I begin to lose consciousness, but before my mind could leave me, I see a figure standing over top of me. I notice two things, his dark round shades that cover his eyes and his furrowed brows over them. As the darkness claims my mind my memory sparks to live, leaving me with one name and two words. Sanford…..aw…shit…


	5. Part Five: Who Are My Friends?

Part Five:

The blow to my neck was more powerful than I first though, and for the next few hours I was fading in and out of consciousness. The first time I really woke up I noticed I was bound to a chair with ropes and handcuffs, but after this realization I slipped back into unconsciousness. The next time I came around I could hear two people talking, the words "Agent" and "Enemy" the only words that I could really make out until I passed out again. The third time I woke back up, this time it was for good, but I didn't wake up on my own. The feel of ice cold water being dumped over me made me start gasping and panting from the shock of it. But before I could recover the force from what I assumed was a sledge-hammer slammed into my jaw, sending pain shooting throughout my body and overriding the shock of the icy water. Luckily the blow didn't repeat and I took my time recovering from it and clearing my vision.

I straighten my neck and back up, the sounds of popping and cracking resounding from my vertebrae. How the strike managed to not break my neck I would never know but I would hope to never repeat. As my eye focus on what is in front of me I see that I was not hit by a sledge-hammer; but what I was hit by is much, much more dangerous. What I see is a very large person, but after I notice this fact I see the round red shades that this person is wearing. That man…that man at the training compound was right. Hank J. Wimbleton stands before me, and it is all that I can do to not start quaking in fear of meeting my agency's primary enemy living and breathing not a meter away from me. I shake myself out of the near panic and I sit up straight in the chair, assessing my situation. I am sitting in a bare room, only one florescent light suspended above me; the only door in and out of the room is blocked by both Sanford and Hank. I am tied to a chair, of course, the knots on the ropes are very strong as well as the handcuffs that keep my wrists locked to the arms of the chair. I also notice they have taken my cloak, my shades and everything out of my pockets, but that is to be expected when you are being interrogated.

After looking around the whole of the room the realization of my chances of escaping are zero makes me almost panic again. Hank clears his throat and says:

"I am only going to ask each question once. If I don't like your answer you get punched again, and if you keep giving me answers I don't like you are going to get punched yet again. And that is going to go on until you give me an answer that I like."

I nod and I wait for his first question: "What are you doing here?" he asks.

I nervously wet my lips and I say: "I only came here to get a soda."

But as the last syllable leaves my mouth, Hank's fist slams into my stomach making me gasp hard in pain and lose my breath. As I try to recover, gasping for another breath the pain hits me, making me feel sure that he broke all of my ribs in one shot. Finally I get my breath back and I lean back against the chair I'm in and I continue taking more breaths, the feeling of my ribs flexing and creaking with each breath sending even more pain shooting though my frame long after the blow landed.

Hank gestures to the door and says to Sanford: "Make Sure there is no one else like him outside. It isn't like the AAHW to send only one man. And an agent at that." Sanford nods and walks out of the room, the sound of the steel door slamming back against the concrete further dashes my hopes of my escape. Hank turns back to me and he gestures for me to give him another answer.

I clear my throat and I say: "The agency doesn't know I am out here. Today I managed to get a day off and I didn't tell anyone where I was going. I'm telling the truth, all I wanted was a soda!"

Hank draws back his fist and punches me again, and after I recover after that blow he says: "You sound like you are telling the truth. But that is a very stupid reason to come out here."

I nod and I say: "It is the truth. And I can't stand spending all my time at that compound. Any place is better than spending all my time there. I just wanted my own freedom for a little while. Even if it means coming into a Zed infested city just for a can of soda!"

Hank backs away from me. A look of surprise and shock on his face. He turns to the door and he opens it, steps through it, but as he is about to close it he says: "That was an answer that I didn't expect. But luckily for you I like it enough to not punch you again."

The door closes and the sound of several locks being drawn across the door is further insult. I sigh and I let my head hang down and I say to Grim, who was standing in the corner of the room the whole time: "Why didn't you warn me that Sanford was right behind me?"

Grim smiles and says: "Oh, I just didn't notice. I was distracted by sudden shift in reality. It seemed that the Nexus-Core is stabilizing for once; that is good news to you and your agency. I just figured I would invest a little more time in figuring out why it stabilized."

I look up at Grim and I say: "And knowing you, you are not going to tell me why it stabilized and that you also knew that Sanford was behind me. You planned all of this, this is all part of you 'shaping my destiny from the past'"

Grim holds up his hands in shock and says in mock surprise: "OH! I have no idea what you are talking about. You know I can't influence reality without permission from the higher-ups! It would cause major disturbances though the dimensions of this universe. We all know I wouldn't want that!"

I laugh and say: "That's the thing. You didn't directly talk to Hank or Sanford. You just popped into their minds and gave them a little suggestion. The power of suggestion is strong, and you know that. You did that even if you had or did not have permission."

Grim clasps his hands together and says in a fake lovey-dovey tone: "Oh, Max, you know me all too well."

I growl and I say: "Yeah, well that just comes naturally to a guy who has HALF OF HIS SOUL TAKEN AWAY FROM HIM!"

Grim shakes his finger at me, saying while he does so: "Ah, hold it right there. You know you gave that part of your soul to me in exchange for power in the mortal world in a willing contractual manner. Well, now you are going to get it, that was the deal of the contract and I am following through with it ten-fold. In fact you have had the power for a long time, but ever since everyone that was close to you died and you stopped your research you haven't gotten past your grief enough to notice! And joining the AAHW didn't help either. They are like ants. Individual powers and freedoms are not for everyone, only those in high command, which, at the rate you were going, would never happen."

Grim walks towards the door and continues: "Out here you have a better chance. But it is all up to you, and now I have worked it into an ultimatum. If you choose loyalty to a puppet organization you are going to die in this very room. If you choose your own freedoms and goals then you might live long enough to get over your grief and take hold of your power. Maybe your dream might be lived out if you are lucky."

Grim steps towards a light switch on the wall and rests a finger on it and says: "But that is a lot of 'what ifs'. It's up to you now. The life of balance is yours for the taking. All you need to do is take it." Grim flicks off the lights, throwing the entire room into darkness. Grim's voice comes at me from every corner of the room, the darkness shaping his words and making them raspy and a hundred times scarier: "Now in the shadows and darkness you must make your choice. And once light reveals your answer, the whole world shall know of a new power holder. And maybe. Just maybe, you can find your old self within that time. Because that is your only way to survival." Grim laughs, the sound bouncing around in the darkness, and soon fading as Grim leaves the room.

I look around the darkness in the room and I can't help but start panicking. I start rocking my chair, moving it towards the light switch. Hoping to bring the light back. The darkness I am enveloped in this time is too much. Something evil lurks within it. But as I feel like I am getting close to the wall, I rock the chair over too much and I fall to the ground. I try to wiggle further along to the wall, but the ropes restrict my movement and I can't move any further. I start to feel another presence in the room, the source of all the fear I felt. But I notice that it feels all too familiar to me, a part of my past that I took great pride in knowing. But now it fills me with the greatest fear. I panic more, finally moving a little further.

'Where is the wall? I can't find the wall…how could it be this far away'

But I soon feel something grab my leg, pulling me back into the darkest part of the room. I shake and try to grab onto the ground with my hands, but it is no use and I let out a scream as I see what was dragging me by the ankle. It is another figure wrapped in a dark cloak, with a dark scythe in his hand. But somehow I could see in the darkness, and I saw that his face was my own, contorted into a grin that bore no good will. The other me laughs as he brings down the scythe on my neck, the blade dark as the shadows that wreath around the room. But before the edge of the blade reached my throat I pass out. Falling into more darkness and oblivion yet again, my mind darting off into a place that I never want to visit.


	6. Part Six: Is My Fate Against Me?

Part Six:

I have been asleep for about an hour or two now, but I have only just begun to relax. But as I began to slip into another dream I am shaken awake. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and I look up and see my friend Aidan. I sit up from where I was sleeping and I say:

"Is it time for me to take the next watch?"

He nods and hands me a rifle as he says: "Yeah. But it has been pretty quiet out there so far. Also it's only 3 more hours until dawn, so I wouldn't imagine that anything else is going to happen tonight."

I take the rifle and I get to my feet as he lays down where I was sleeping and I say "Well that's good. You know, for a zombie apocalypse it didn't get as bad as I thought it would."

Aidan closes his eyes, rolls over on his side and says in a mock comforting tone: "Don't worry, there is always tomorrow."

I mockingly laugh and say: "Enjoy the next 3 hours of sleep. 'Cause we are moving further into the city tomorrow."

Aidan waves me off without looking back at me and says in a sarcastic tone: "Sure thing, Commander Max."

I chuckle a little bit and I walk to the stairs and I move up to the second floor of the building we are staying in. All together there are 12 of us including me. Most of my old friends are in this group, but that is mainly because our families were dead before we could save them or even get out of the city that we lived in. We are in Nevada right now, searching for a rumored military base that has yet to be taken over.

Our trek started from Virginia, and it has taken us nearly two years to get to where we are now; fighting though the undead and bandits every mile we took getting here. Luckily our group has managed to stay safe and sane the whole way here. I smile as I reach the top of the steps, yes it won't be long before we can start pushing back against what has taken our homes.

This night we managed to break into a bakery, which was surprisingly clear of zeds, except for the undead owner that still stood at the counter. But after a few moments and a few hits with an axe he was no longer a problem. The bakery has two levels, one where all of the bread and pastries were baked and sold, and a second story where the owner once slept. We decided to sleep on the first floor, mainly because the baker was a hoarder and the whole upstairs smells like molded cheese and bread. But digging though the rubbish and trash that made up his living quarters we did manage to find 3 revolvers and several boxes of various types of ammunition.

As I walk into one of the rooms we cleared out I draw back the bolt of the rifle and I load a round into the chamber. I move to a table by the window and I lay down on it, the barrel of the rifle pointing out towards the street. Aidan was right, the streets are pretty clear tonight, not a single Zed ambling amongst the buildings.

The rifle is one that I used for hunting before the world died. It is a 7mm Remington Magnum, and on the end of the barrel there is a makeshift suppresser that I made a while ago. It's not as quiet as the military grade suppressers, but it is ten times better than firing a round without it. I look though the scope, scanning the streets and alleyways for anything that might be a threat. I remember what my dad told me when we were hunting one day, telling me to keep both eyes open when looking though a scope so I could see more than what was shown though the lens.

After a few minutes of watching over the streets I see a solitary abomination stumble out into the open. I check the safety, making sure that it is off, but I leave my finger off the trigger. There is no point in shooting if it doesn't know I'm here, even if the rifle is suppressed. For the next hour I observe the abomination, with fascination, as it walks around trying to bust into buildings. It doesn't seem to know that the doors are locked and it doesn't seem to be aware of any of its surroundings. Eventually the abomination trips over a curb on the street and falls to the ground, flopping around in a vain attempt to get up despite its arms still being bound to its sides by straps and belts that one would normally find in an insane asylum.

After about 40 minutes or so I could barely see the faint glimmer of dawn, but it was still far off from true morning light. I decided to get up from the table and stretch my legs a bit. I check out the window one last time, making sure the abomination hadn't noticed my movement. Luckily it was still on the ground, thrashing around and straining to get back up on its feet. I walk down the upper hall way and into one of less cluttered rooms. In this room the Baker stored some canned products and a few soft drinks. I look though the jumbled shelves, looking at all of the food and drinks that have been sitting there for who knows how long. I lift up a can of beans and check the expiration date on the bottom, surprisingly amid the rust and corrosion on the face of the can I see that the beans don't expire for another six months. I set down the can and I pick up a can of cola. I look at the peeled label of the can, a brand that I have never seen on any other sodas from Virginia. The label says: "Nevada-Cola", I look at the base of the can, the expiration label saying it was still good for another two years. I open the top of the can slowly, the slight hiss of carbonation deafening to my ears amid the quite of early morning. I lift the can up to my nose and give it an experimental sniff. I shrug and quietly say to myself:

"Can't be that much different than a Coke or whatever…" I lift the can to my lips and I take a small sip. But as I do so I breathe in slightly and some of the liquid went down the wrong pipe, as it were. I put the can down quickly and I cover my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket and I start coughing. Another five minutes pass, and I finally get over the fit. I clear my throat, grabbing the can again as I wipe the corner of my mouth and I say to myself "Let's try that again." I take another sip, this time I can actually taste the drink without coughing it back up again; I lower the can, staring at it and I say "Considering I haven't had a soda in a while, this is probably the best Cola I have ever tasted!"

I turn back around and I walk back into the room that I left my rifle, drinking my find as I go. I set down the can and I look outside, and to my surprise I see that the abomination had gotten up and left since I had been gone. I take up the rifle again and I search the alleyways, looking for the solitary intruder. But after I finish my sweep though the scope I see that it had left for good. I move away from the window, leaning against the wall as I leave the light of the sky. There hasn't been a sun or a moon in over three years, but the sky still brightens and darkens the same as it always did. I set the rifle down and I reach into my pocket, pulling out my watch; I open the face of it and I see that it is nearly 5:30. I clasp the watch shut, placing it back into my pocket. Only another hour or so before we all wake up and we have to move out and push further into the city.

I look out the window again, staring at the interior of the city. I frown staring at the dark, abandoned buildings that tower high above the landscape. I start wondering: if we are so close to the city, why aren't there more Zeds and Abominations? Sure we were quiet, sure we covered our tracks, but even the most carful of people would have attracted attention this close to any city. I stare at the city, and I can't help but feel some amount of foreboding about heading into the city tomorrow. But I shake my head and I say to myself: "It's going to be fine. If we just stick to what we have been doing when we enter a city. We stay quiet and we stick to the shadows. That is all there is to it."

The next hour passed without any other incidents, besides me nearly falling asleep a few times, but as the rays of the rising sun touched at the window I knew that something bad was going to happen. I get up from the table and I walk back downstairs, my watch finally over. As I reach the bottom stair I see that about half of my friends are already awake, packing away supplies and prepping their weapons for today's journey. Most of our weapons are either handguns with whatever suppressors we could make or find attached to them or an assortment of short swords, long swords, knives and shortened pikes. Most of the melee weapons we have we found in abandoned houses, a few from museums, but the best ones we have are the ones that I made.

When all of us still lived in Virginia I started making weapons for our journey. Roughly 6 months before the apocalypse brought the world to an end, I had built a forge up in the mountains, where my family had bought a small chunk of land. But now that we have moved on, my last home destroyed by roving bandits, all that I have been able to do is repair these weapons. Hopefully once we reach the military base I can start making more again, and I can start rebuilding the world in a way that I want. I look around the room, a smile on my face brought about by the future that we were going to have. We didn't really belong in society before the world ended, we knew how to live in it and how to make ourselves belong, but we were never truly happy with our reality. Today is different though, the world has a fresh start, and we are going to make sure it works out along our bases, that the world will be changed from what it used to be.

I look across the room and I see that Aidan is also awake. I walk over and I see him cleaning and putting a slight polish to his katana. I look at the blade, a slight chip about a 5th of the way down the blade from where he tried to do a helm splitter on a blunt sword. I point to the nock in the blade and I say: "It's too bad that I couldn't repair it before we left."

Aidan puts down the cloth he was using, picking up a whet stone after doing so. He says, while sharpening the blade: "Yeah, but I am sure we can fix it later. Besides, when I cut into flesh the nick does more damage as it cuts all the way though. Although, it does put a fair amount of drag on the blade as well."

I nod and I set the rifle against the wall and I say to him: "Well, I'll make sure everyone is up. We are going to leave in about an hour or two." Aidan nods and goes back to sharpening the blade. I turn around and I start waking up the last two people who are still asleep: Elissa and her boyfriend Sean. Elissa also uses a sword; a special broad sword that I made a while ago, the blade widening as it reaches the tip of the blade, adding more force to each swing. Her boyfriend uses a crowbar that has a couple of weights and a long spike welded to the end. I shake the both of them awake, and I tell them: "Okay, we are moving out in about an hour or two. I want you two to go outside and make sure that our parameter is clear." The two of get up off of the bedroll that was laid on the ground, stretching and rubbing the sleep out of their eyes as the get up on their feet. Elissa turns to me and says: "Is there anything that we should be looking for?" I nod and I say "Yeah, there might be an abomination somewhere out there, but only one." Elissa and Sean nod, gathering up their weapons before they walk to the back of the store: out the door that we broke down to get into the building.

I look around, everyone fully prepped to move though the city, and I nod to myself as I walk to where I put my backpack. There is no reason for us to worry. At this point I am pretty sure we can take on anything that comes our way. Sure we may have lost some people getting here, but that will only make us stronger once we reach our goals. I kneel down and I open up the bag and I take out an M1911, a military grade suppressor on the barrel. I rummage around in the bag a bit more and I take out a holster for the gun as well as 2 more clips for the weapon, putting on the holster and placing the weapon and the magazines into their respective slots after I do so. Also grab one of our large carrier bags that we use to keep all of our supplies. We call the bag the "Stay Home Bag", because all of the stuff that goes in the bag is all we need to live out a few nights once we secure a building.

I throw my back pack on my shoulders, and I head back up the stairs, dragging the other bag behind me. I reach the room with the shelves of canned foods, placing the bag at the foot of the shelves. I start taking down the tin cans from their perches, checking the date on the bottom of each one just to be sure that they are still…well…not toxic. I clear the shelves of the all the cans, and I move to leave the room. But as I clear the threshold of the door I wonder where I would find another Nevada Cola, or if I would ever find another one. I shrug and I walk back down stairs, the whole group now ready to move though the city. I move to the middle of the room and I take a weather-worn map out of my jacket pocket. I hold it in the air, my group quiet at this point. I say to them:

"This is what we came here for. This is the city that we have to cross into to get to the military base. But we have to be careful, things are way too quiet here, even for a military installation to be so close. But for good or for worse, we are going to make it through this, and then the world will be ours to cultivate." Everyone nods and a few good words and excitement are exchanged between one another. I point to the door and I say "Okay. Let's go on to the military base. But keep an eye on the alleys, just because a city is quiet, doesn't mean it is empty."

All of use move out the door in the back of the bakery, Elissa and Sean joining up with us as they finished their sweep of the perimeter. We move on to the road and we start walking into the inner city, weaving in and amongst the abandoned cars and the corpses that lay between them. Even now the city is quiet, and everyone is on edge, their weapons clasped in a white knuckle death grip. And onwards we continued, for another hour, our nerves worn out in the expectation of a battle that did not come.

We are now in the center of the city, the buildings climbing high above us, darkened clouds forming and settling on the very tops of the buildings. Our group reaches an intersection in the road, and I point to one of the streets and I say "That is the way to the base, only a little while longer." Aidan walks up to me, pointing down the street, and saying: "You do see that the street is blocked by a flipped semi, right?" I nod and I gesture to the cars racked up against the truck and I say "Yeah, but we can just climb and hop over all of the cars to get to the other side. It won't take too long." Aidan nods but still looks at the Semi with concern. I tell him "Just get the group circled up for defense and I will jump over there and see what is on the other side." Aidan nods and says "Alright, just be careful over there. Wouldn't want you to cut yourself on some glass or something." I nod, turning to the traffic jam saying as I go "Don't worry about me, I'll make it alright."

I reach the small wall of cars, the container that was attached to the back of it flipped on to the road just like the truck it was attached to. I sling my rifle onto my shoulders and I pull myself up onto the first car. I look inside the car as I do so and I see two people, huddled in the back seat. I drop back down from the car and I walk to the other side. The other door to the other side is smashed in, in several places. The window is also smashed, the pieces of glass flung across the car's interior. The bodies inside the car are torn to shreds, the legs and lower bodies mutilated to the point that the bones that where showing had taken some serious damage. But the bodies didn't have any chunks take out of them, none of the bits of dried meat had been eaten. That means that Zeds did not do this, nor abominations. Even a small horde of abominations couldn't cause this much damage to a car and to a body. Abominations when they kill they just move on, whatever attacked these two must of hung around and spent some time bashing away at the bodies. I shake my head and I continue to climb, whoever did this was probably some bandit that loves to smash bodies apart. Soon I reach the top of the semi, the rest of the street relatively clear of cars. I crouch down on the flat surface of the container, and I sling my rifle off my shoulder, looking though the scope as I bring the butt of the rifle to my shoulder. But just like last night, there is nothing to see through the lens of the scope amid the abandoned cars and buildings.

I get up off my knees and I continue to look around, the other side of the truck also has a few cars piled up against it as well. Climbing over and back down shouldn't be too much trouble with the cars sitting like they are. I turn around, about to jump down from the truck, but as I reach the edge of the container I hear the sound of metal crashing against concrete. I turn back around, dropping to my stomach and bringing the scope up to my eye as I hit the ground. I look at an alleyway, an overturned trashcan still rolling out from the shadows. I pan across the pavement and I see a figure, standing in the road, its clothes torn and its flesh rended in many places. I focus the scope, and I see that the creature's forearms are nearly scraped clean of all flesh, leaving only bone behind. Its entire body is covered in wounds, many of them gaping wide open and chunks of flesh hanging off of it. I bring the rifle up to look at its head, past its chest which was caved in and the majority of its insides ripped out. The only thing that I could see was left was a couple feet of its entrails, hanging out of its stomach and dragging along the ground slightly.

"How is this thing still alive?" I ask myself. I draw back the bolt of the rifle, and I center the cross hairs on its throat. The great thing about the 7mm magnum is that once it hits bone the entire round explodes, throwing shrapnel though the body and blowing open bigger holes in the body than the bullet itself. I rest my finder on the trigger, ignoring the glowing red eyes that I know are staring at me. I fire the round, the suppressor on the weapon doing its job fairly well, but to me it was deafening to hear in the middle of this quiet and grim city. But the bullet traveling at a super-sonic speed does its job even better, blowing off the head of whatever that thing was. It stumbles around without a head, bumping into cars and walking around the street until it trips over a curb and falls to the ground and lays still.

I get up from the truck again, and I run and jump, rolling as I hit the ground. I reach my group and I say to them: "We got a new enemy. We have to be very careful now, these things are much more dangerous than anything else we have met. Also, they must be killed by blowing their heads off or cutting them off." Everyone checks their weapons, making sure they are ready for a fight. I turn to Sean and I say: "Open up our heavy weapons bag and start giving out weapons to our best shooters. We need mid and close range weapons." Sean nods and asks: "Do they need to be suppressed?" I shake my head and I say: "No, give out the unsuppressed ones out as well. I am not taking any chances when we are this close to safety." Sean opens up the bag and starts handing out weapons, handing me an AK-47 along with an extra magazine before he starts handing out weapons to everyone else.

But as I load a round into the chamber the sound of hundreds of inhuman screams fill the air. The screams are filled with bloodlust, hate, insanity but worse yet: a sign of imminent attack. I yell: "EVERY ONE GET READY. SHOOT THEM IN THE HEAD AND SHOOT AT THE FIRST SIGN OF MOVMENT!"

Everyone spaces out slightly, the ones with assault rifles jumping up onto the roofs of cars to get better shots. About 6 others have long bladed weapons and they move out in front of the cars, defending the ones with guns. I climb up on top of a pickup truck, dropping my bag into the bed of the vehicle. I yell to Sean: "Are there any other AK mags left?" Sean doesn't answer but throws the bag to me, an assortment of ammunition rattling around inside. I pull out 3 more magazines and I lay them out on the truck, and I toss down that bag as well. As the duffle bag hits the bed of the truck the creatures start emerging from the alleyways, sprinting towards us, screaming hate and oblivion at us.

I bring up the rifle, snapping of shots as soon as I can line up the sights up on the heads of my targets. But I hope too much on my shots and many of them miss there marks and further mutilating our foes, but not killing many of them. I drop the magazine and I crouch down, grabbing up another magazine. I take a breath calming myself and I start making all of my shots count.

Over the next few minutes we keep them at bay, dropping them before they can make it close enough to harm us. Soon they stop coming all together and the tide of our enemies' recedes, the city quiet except for us changing out our magazines. We stand in formation for another few minutes, waiting for the onslaught to begin again. I point to a building and I say:

"Let's get out of here, we have the entire cities attention by now."

We start getting down from our perches, but one of the guys with a sword sprints to the building. His name is Jeffery, he was a lone survivor that we found a month or so ago. He makes it to the door and kicks it open, but as he steps inside 4 pairs of hands, whittled down the bone, grab him and pull him into the darkness. The sounds of flesh tearing and screams erupt from the shadows, his screams turning to pitiful cries and then to silence. 4 of the creatures slowly walk out of the building; their hands and chests covered in a new blanket of fresh blood. I bring up the sights of my rifle and I shoot the four of them, each of them falling to the ground as the bullets tear through their skulls and splatter their brains across the door frame.

I look around the group and I say: "They have us surrounded. No one breaks off the group, these things know how to ambush. Let's just hold out for now. We will find a way to make it to the base. Well come back for his body later." Everyone gets ready, our whole group sullen over the death of one of our group. We settle down, a minute turns to ten, ten turns into thirty, thirty turns to an hour. As we wait for a way to move without getting attacked it starts to rain, the drops of water cold, the sky darker than it has ever been. Thunder cracks over head as lightning sears the heavens. I look at the water and the spent bullet casings and all I can think is: 'If I die today, then it is to be with my friends…my family. But I'll be damned if I give up, for if my comrades are willing to fight to the end then so am I!'

The rain thickens, but a new sound creeps from the darkness; over the sound of the storm. At first it is hardly noticeable, but after a few minutes it rises over the clamor of the story. It's the sound of footsteps, all of them coming towards us. Everyone gets up from where they were sitting, aiming their weapons into the darkness of the buildings and the alleyways. Soon the footsteps become a thunderous roar and, for some reason, I expected them to suddenly stop and pause for a few moments but I was thrown off by the sound of the footsteps increase in pace. From all directions the monsters start stampeding out from every building and street. Gunfire erupts from our positions, but I know that we are going to be overrun, but we continue fighting. I continue throwing out rounds, the spent casings pouring out of the ejector and clattering to the asphalt below me.

I drop the magazine and I load my last one. Just as I cock the gun again I hear a cry behind me. I turn around and I see Elissa, her throat slashed open and her sword embedded in two of those things. I turn around and I fire at the attacking creature, putting 4 round into his head. Sean charges the advancing horde, screaming wordlessly as he draws two Desert Eagles out from his jacket. He starts firing into the heads of the enemies, guns blowing huge holes in his targets. Soon they are empty, and 10 of them are dead. Sean grabs his crowbar off his back and he starts slamming the steel into anything that comes into reach. I start firing around him, making sure that nothing gets near him, but as I feel like the creatures are about to fall back, more of them show up. I turn back around to fire more rounds into the other wave of creatures that are beginning to swarm over us. But as I see what is happening behind me I start to lose my nerve, 4 of my group are on the ground, blood pooling around their lifeless bodies. I switch the weapon into full-auto, reloading and firing off a new clip into the horde of demented bodies, emptying the clip and amazingly dropping 17 of them. I drop down from the truck and I rush to Sean, as I reach him I bring up the butt of the AK and I slam it into the head of one of the things, dislocating its jaw and smashing its skull in.

I toss the gun to the side and I draw out my hunting knife and I drive it into the eye socket of the next attacker. I pause as there was a lull in the onslaught, I grab Sean by the shoulder and I shout to him "You got to fall back!" He shakes off my hand and he slams me in the stomach with the butt of the bar and he yells at me as I keel over from the pain: "No falling back for me! Not until my death is due! Not until I make my vengeance known to these pathetic creatures!" I try to stop him, but the pain in my abdomen prevents me from making him stop. After a full eternity of 30 seconds I can finally get to my feet, but as I see how far Sean has gone into the attacking creatures, I know there is no helping him. He is fighting at a full berserk mode, bashing the things apart and rending their bodies. But he is also being damaged, their exposed bony fingers tearing off chunks of his flesh and spilling his blood on the ground, draining his strength, and ending his life. I turn from him nothing I can do to help as his body is torn to shreds, his rage moving his body and fighting to the very end. I feel like giving up, but that was never an option the moment we set foot on our journey. I make it back to the center of our defenses, only one of my friends left: Aidan. I look around us, the creatures have stopped; their ranks circled around us, trapping us for good.

I turn to my last friend in the world and I say: "This is fucked up, isn't it?" He nods and says: "But the cowards' way out shall not be our undoing. It is the fool's way it is." Aidan takes his katana and draws the blade across his forearm, I kneel down and I pick up a machete from the hands of another one of my fallen comrades. I make a similar cut on my arm and I say: "Then I must be a fool." I draw the gun out of my pocket and I draw back the slide of the gun with the bottom of my hand. I look around at the creatures, still frozen in their ranks, and I say: "Okay, I'll take the ones that came from downtown, you take the ones from uptown." Aidan draws a Glock from a holster at his back and he says: "Just make sure you don't pick off any on my side, I have a streak to maintain." I nod and I say: "I'll make sure I will rein in my shots." Aidan sweeps his blade, the blood slicking off the blade and spattering the ground and he says: "See you in the next life. Let's see how your deal pays off then." I say nothing and turn towards the downtown area.

In the next moment we are fighting for our lives, firing rounds off into the heads of our attackers, slashing off the heads and limbs of those that came close to us. The fight lasted an eternity, at least until I ran out of bullets, I stab the machete into my next opponent. I drop the empty, clip and I load a new mag into the gun. I take the machete up from its corpse and I slash through four of their heads in one swing, managing to cock the weapon before the next Demented soul could come near me. We continue to fight, Aidan firing his gun only when it was impossible to bring his sword around to cut down his aggressor. I spend another clip and I make a small space in the horde with a few more slashes, reloading my gun after their bodies fall. I step forward into the gap I made, stepping away from my comrade, slashing though the wall of flesh that seeks to destroy me. But just as I manage to push a few feet into the writing mass of bodies I hear Aidan growl in pain. I turn around and I see one the demented has punched a hole in his chest with its skeletal fingers. I draw my gun, dropping the machete as I cock back the gun. I fire all eight rounds into the things head, blowing its brains our across the hood of a car. I turn back around, grabbing back up my machete and I slash into the horde, a blood rage clouding my sight and my sense of self.

After a few moments I realize that they have stopped fighting back. I stumble backwards, into the circle that I created, I turn and I see Aidan, who is still clutching on to life. But as I try to say something, he lets out one last guttering breath, blood spattering out of his mouth and speckling his shirt.

I stop.

Mortified.

I whirl around to the horde, handgun extended in front of me and I yell: "What!? Is this it? Fight me!" I squeeze the trigger, but the slide pops back, the gun empty and useless. I continue pulling the trigger, the weapon only clicking in my hands. I throw the gun, it harmlessly bouncing off the face of one of the creatures. I beat my chest with my hand shouting:

"What?"

"FIGHT ME! I AM RIGHT HERE! GIVE ME A DEATH WITH MY FRIEND. FIGHT ME. FIGHT ME!"

The figures grin, and they start to turn their backs on me, the ones furthest from me fading into a red mist, which is taken up in the wind of the storm as they start their walk away from me. Soon only one remains, and it to fades away, along with the droves of fallen bodies. Soon every corpse, including those of my friends disappear. The only thing left is the blood that was spilt and the weapons that spilt it. I drop to my knees.

Speechless.

But soon I scream a wordless yell of hate and loss. I soon leave breath, but I take another breath and I yell at the blood staining the ground: "Is this what you leave me with? Is this my closure? No bodies of my friends that I can bury? Only the weapons that hold their dying breath?"

I get up and I charge the truck, my fist raised. I reach the truck and I start pounding my fist into the panel. The first blow dented the panel, but after that I forgot how many fists I pound unto the metal. I only stop when I see that my hand is bloodied and broken. I fall to my knees, clutching my hands and crying bitter tears of regret and loss.

It was some hours later when they found me; Bathed in blood and crying next to a pile of weapons that were embedded in the concrete with my anger. They took me in. They fed me. And then they trained me to fight better than I knew I could. I found another family, but I could never feel close to them, but I tried. But now I am near death yet again. Tied up in the cellar of an abandoned theater. Alone. Abandoned. And wanting to die.

But that is not my fate. I look up at myself, and I see what drove me to make myself live. I close my eyes, and the blade vanishes from my throat. My past can catch up to me, but my future will make sure I find my true fate. I must embrace what made me want to die. A connection. And the AAHW cannot provide that. But Hank is not to trust me. I can only trust myself now. But that is a good enough start.


	7. Part Seven: Who Do I Fight?

Part Seven:

I lay in the cell, for about another hour or so. I keep on trying to move and get up from chair that I am bound to in the darkness, but after all of my efforts and strengths I cannot escape. Eventually I found out that I could shift my weight and roll the chair. I start doing this, throwing my weight, gathering speed, rolling the chair across the floor. I roll the chair as hard as I can into the wall, jarring my body and the chair. I continue to do this and after a few direct hits I start to feel the chair weaken, the joints of the chair starting to creak and whine with each roll I put the chair through. I roll the chair to the opposite wall, sweat trickling off my brow; I gather up my breath and another bit of strength and I roll the chair again. This time I reach success and the chair smashes to pieces on impact.

I get up from the smashed wood that once made up the chair, the ropes that bound my body sliding off of me now that they aren't anchored to the chair anymore. However, the handcuffs that were encircled around my hands are still there. I guess I have to find the keys to get them off somehow.

I bend down and I search the wreckage of rope and wood. I grab up the rope and I coil it up, slinging the coil around my shoulders. I also pick up a scrap of wood that was once a leg of the chair; the force of the impact splintered the end of it into a sharp point. This is going to be the best weapon I can get until I find my gear.

I chuckle: its inappropriate times like these when I suddenly think I am in a video game and I give myself objectives that I have to follow. But there is no helping it:

-Objective #1: Get Handcuff Keys

-Objective #2: Get Cloak, Knives, Shades and Grappling hook back.

I shake my head out of the fantasy and I move to the steel door that is set in the wall. I place my hands at the seams of the door, feeling for any irregularities or damage and I think to myself:

'It looks like this door was put here recently: there are no new patches of concrete, or any cracks around the molding of the door. They must have this so they can interrogate people like me.'

I move to the hinges in the door, which face outwards, into the cell. I knock on the rivets the hold them in place with the butt of the wooden shiv, checking for any weakness at all. But after a few firm taps on each of them I can see that the door is just as new as the frame that it was set in. I move back into the center of the cell, wondering what I can do next.

I can't just lay in wait in the cell and attack them when they come back, even if I could take Hank down somehow, Sanford would kill me before I could take another step towards him. I pace the length of the cell, thinking of what I could do to escape. But I pause mid step:

'I can't go back to the base. It has already been a day, I'm sure of it. Anyone that doesn't check in before midnight is considered a deserter and a dissenter. No…I can't go back.'

I almost feel sorrow for losing another connection, but then I think:

'But there was nothing for me there in the first place: just endless waiting to be promoted, and a high possibility of being killed during a raid.'

I walk to a wall and I lean back on it, the concrete rough against my back. I frown: maybe I shouldn't have destroyed the chair. I scratch my chin, thinking:

'Maybe…maybe I could join Hank's group. I'm sure that they are always in need of recruits…no…they already don't trust me at all. Even if I answer their questions I am quite sure that they would kill me anyways…I would be and I already am a loose end. No choice but to get out of here…but how?'

I am shaken from my thoughts as I hear the sounds of metal rattling from the other end of the cell and the feel of slightly cooler air blowing across my skin. I look up and I stare into the darkness, the rattles and clunks continuing on at a constant pace and rhythm. I cross the cell again and I feel the wall, moving upwards to the ceiling. My hands touch upon metal which is vibrating slightly: it's a cooling vent!

I nod to myself and I think: 'of course, if there wasn't a direct access to air in here the air would get stale pretty quickly. Besides, modifying a door is one thing, redirecting air and ventilation systems is quite another.'

I walk back to the destroyed chair and I rummage around the pieces. One of the pieces is part of the backing of the chair, and is roughly as long as a short sword. Another one of the pieces is one of the thicker supports of the chair. I take the longer piece and I start bashing at the grate that holds covers the vent. The vent cover is very thin, but it is quite strong: after a few minutes all I could do was dent the grate and open up the slat covers in the vent slightly. I back away, there isn't a way I can break into there with a broken scrap of wood. I sit down in the middle of the cell, cross-legged, closing my eyes and trying to think of a way to escape.

As I am thinking, I start to feel shadows closing in on me again and I start to panic, thrashing away from them. But my thoughts clear and I stay still, letting the darkness wash over me. To my surprise I calm down even more, the darkness a sudden comfort to me. I open my eyes and I am surprised that I can see perfectly. I grin in the darkness and I start laughing: I guess I should embrace my past, I see that I can get the power I have always wanted from it. I close my eyes again, a new idea forming in my mind on what I can do to escape. I remember part of the contract I had with grim, and I laugh even more: I am confident in my success now.

I stop my laughing and I breathe deeply, concentrating on my strength and the shadows.

I am strong, and I have shadow on my side. I take another deep breath.

I can make it out of here. I take another deep breath.

I know I can make it out of here. I tense up my muscles. I take another deep breath.

I un-tense my muscles and I let out my last breath and I say to the darkness and shadows:

"I know you are listening out there. I need my strength. I need my power. Give me the strength and I shall give you my life force in part. In stipulation of the contract which I, Max Shockley, am bound I offer up some of my animus in exchange for strength. Give me the words that I must speak for the pact to be sealed and I shall remember it."

My eyes snap open and I storm over the grate and I scream:

"Death's Might! Heed my call and guide my strength!"

I grab hold of the sides of the grate and I one huge wrenching motion I tear the metal from its place, the heads of the bolts that held it in place shower down from their holdings and scatter across the floor. I throw the warped grating away and I hoist myself up into the vent, the darkness no longer a barrier to my sight. As I crawl a few feet into the vent I face two problems: The first one is a rotating blade that pushes the air out of the vent. The other problem is the crippling hunger that I suddenly felt.

I curl up into a ball the sounds of groaning and complaint coming from my stomach. I grimace in pain, and I clutch at my stomach, hoping to stop the growls and torment if feel. I think to myself with a bit more insight to what this hunger means:

'It's not so much as my life force than the energy that I literally consume. I see now, it drains the energy that I have on hand first, then it drains away the life I have left. No matter, I still have the strength to continue on.'

I push the hunger away from my mind and I examine the blade. The blade isn't necessarily sharp, but it is moving at a pretty decent speed, enough to hurt me more than I want to be. I take the shorter piece of wood that I gathered from the chair and I stick it into the blades. The blades bite deep into the wood, but the wooden rod, surprisingly, doesn't snap apart. The space in between the blades is barely enough for me to squeeze though, but after a few moments of wiggling and a couple of instances of panic where I thought I was stuck, I manage to make it past the fan. But as I pull my left foot past the blades I accidentally knock my toes against the wood, causing it to shift slightly. But this minute movement is enough for the fan to put enough force on the wood, snapping it in half. I sigh as I see the blades pick up speed and start rattling again. No turning back now…

I start crawling through the vent, my stomach grumbling and growling every inch of the way. I slam my fist into the side of the vent and I say to myself:

"Okay, another objective: Get some damn food!"

I continue moving though the vents, listening for the sounds of voices and more importantly the smell of food. I sigh: "Dear Jebus, is food really the only thing I can think of right now? I gotta figure out a way to draw from a different power source when I use these powers."

I continue moving though the confines of the vent and before too long I reach another vent cover. I look though the grate, into the light of the hallway; there is nobody in the hall, but I can hear voices coming from some room near the hall. I move on though the vents, hitting a junction in the vents, the two ways I can go is forwards and to my right. I choose the right passage, the sound of voices bouncing though the vent.

'Huh, I know it is late at night…why are these people still up?'

I continue crawling through the ventilation, my handcuffs rattling no matter how much I try to make them stay silent. In the next moment my attempts of being sneaky are foiled:

The sound of an alarm starts to scream though the vents and vent covers from intercoms in the hallways. The electronic alarm tone is shut off and the sound of Hank's voice booms though the speakers:

"The prisoner has escaped. He is in the ventilation shafts, use any means necessary to subdue him. Shoot only to wound and incapacitate. He must be taken alive."

I freeze inside the vents. A thought wizzes though my head before I can start to think of anything else that I can do in order to escape this new situation:

….'fuk'….

I pick up the pace and I start crawling through the vents with further haste. I reach another vent grate before too long. I look down from it and I see a door burst open, nearly a dozen people dressed in combat fatigues storm out of the room, blades and a few guns drawn. I start to move on, but the mouthwatering smell of food wafts in from the open door into the vents. My stomach growls loudly, the sound extremely audible in the confined space. I debate in my head for nearly half a second, but ultimately the sound of other people knocking though the vents behind me made my decision.

I bust open the grate and I drop down to the floor, my shackles clatter as I tumble down to the floor. I manage to land on the ground, feet first. I walk to the door of what I assumed to be the old concession stand lobby, the glorious smell of food letting me know it is not yet empty.

I rush the counter, my handcuffs rattling with each pace I take. I vault over the counter and I burst into the kitchen, the source of the smell I was searching for was from an empty grill with stacks of hotdogs next to it. I throw down the wooden spear and I grab a hotdog on the very top of the pile and I wolf it down. The link was still hot and it burned my mouth slightly, but, I don't stop eating the delicious meat by-product, eating more and more, grabbing the hotdogs and eating them at an inhuman speed. I turn from the demolished plate of hotdogs and I charge a crate labeled "Chips" and I bash it open with my fists and I start ripping open the bags of chips and scarfing them down as well.

That was a bad decision. The chips are too salty, I turn and I see a shelf with cans of cola on it. I look at the labels and I see that they are what I came here for: Nevada-Cola! I grab a few of the cans, popping them open and guzzling them down. I reach for yet another can and I pause…This whole situation right now reminds me of some cartoon…something to do with pirates…and hats….straw ones….

Ah, never mind, the food and drinks are more important to me now. I slow down, finally feeling full, but I turn and I see the hotdogs again…they beckon me…I must feast upon them! I go back to demolishing the amazing beef franks and a few moments later they are gone. I go back to the Nevada-Cola shelf and I crack open yet another one of the delicious cans of soda. I take another long draft from the can and I let out a long and honestly too loud of a burp.

I am about to turn around when I hear the sound of a weapon cocking. I hold up my hands above my head, my cuffs rattling annoyingly. I turn around slowly, and I see a man wearing a dirty apron with a chef's hat perched on the top of his head, holding a pump-action Mossberg in his hands. He says:

"You know, it is rude to burp so loudly. Also, it seems that you have eaten enough to feed a dozen men. You are going to pay for all you have done!"

I lower one of my hands and I wipe my mouth and I say:

"Sorry about all of the food, but I was so hungry after I broke out of my cell."

I reach back and I grab an unopened can. He aims the shotgun at my head and he says:

"Aw no, you are not having anything more to eat or drink for a long time!"

I smile, with malice in my teeth and I say:

"But this is not to drink…"

I bring my hand back and I hurl the can at him, the soda striking him in the temple, the can ruptures and the carbonated liquid spirts everywhere as his body falls to the ground. I sprint over his unconscious frame and I bolt out of the concessions lobby, leaving the sharp chair leg behind. There is no point in grabbing my stuff; there was nothing of any real value that they took from me anyways, I can just scavenge up some new things when I make it out of here.

I run though the hallways and I find the front door of the theater. It is a good thing that Hank told them to search the vent, now all I have to do is run out the front door. I burst through the glass doors and I run to the nearest building, once I am a few blocks away from here I shall be home free.

But as soon as I feel the first tastes of freedom I feel something yank me backwards by the cuffs that are still attached to my wrists. My feet shoot out from underneath me and I fall to the ground. I roll onto my stomach and I see what had stopped me. Inside the open loop of the cuff on my right hand is a barbed meat hook, I look past the hook and I see Sanford standing about 10 meters away from me, the lead of the hook in his hands. I roll back over and I try to back get up, but Sanford yanks the cord and I fall back to the ground, this time the force of it causes me to bash the back of my head into the ground. I clutch the back of my head with my hands and I roll over onto my side as a knot of pain erupts from where I hit the pavement.

Sanford drops the cord that was attached to the hook and he un-holsters a Glock and points it at me. He also pulls out a small handheld radio and lifts it up to his mouth, about to let everyone know where I am. I think to myself as I try to recover from the pain:

'Well, that is the end of my escape attempt. Once Hank sees me I can't fight him, I can't even out run him if I were to even try to run away. And when they lock me up again, that is if they don't kill me here and now, they will make sure I am never left alone with myself.'

But the sound of wood striking on bone draws my attention back to Sanford. Sanford's hands drop to his sides, the radio and the Glock falling from them and striking the asphalt as his knees crumple and his body falls to the ground shortly afterwards.

I look past Sanford's unconscious frame and I see and ATP Engineer, holding a Billy Club in his hands, a bright spot of red running down the dark polish of the wood. He drops the club and takes up Sanford's Glock and places it in a pouch that he has hanging by his side.

I focus on the man's face and I see that it is the Clone from the Armory. The pain from the blow to the ground finally recedes and I finally manage to get up, my head spinning as I finally get to my feet. I look at the clone and I ask:

"Why are you here? I don't think that I am worth being rescued by the Agency."

The ATP Engineer stares at me says in a heavy monotone: "Don't value yourself that highly. We could care less if you had died or were turned into a Zed."

I spread my hands in a wide gesture and I say: "Then why come for me at all? In fact, how did you even find me?"

The Clone turns around and walks away into the darkness of the night and I jog behind him, once I catch up and start matching his pace he says: "We found you with the chip that was embedded in your arm. Inside the chip there is a special chemical and a small battery of Nexus Energy that we can track. We saw that you didn't check back into base at midnight and no one knew where you were so we decided to pull up your location. We fully expected your chip to give us a reading that said that your vital signs had ceased. But we not only were surprised by you being alive, but that you were also on the move in a sector that is known for a high level of bandits."

We continue walking, turning down an alleyway and stopping a few moments later. The ATP Clone continues: "I came out here with a small detachment of Soldats to make sure to kill you if you had sold out any information to our enemies."

I back up slightly and I say: "Then are you going to kill me now? Is that the only reason you came out here?"

The Clone laughs, the sound a hollow and forced expression that had no real joy in its sound. The ATP Engineer says: "No, once we saw who you had found we decided to lay back and see what unfolds. And against all that we figured would be happening you escaped and you were also confronted by Sanford. As far as we and the Agency are concerned, you can forget this little…ah…mix up about not being able to clock in at midnight. This is a great thing that you have stumbled upon. Once we call in our forces to take out Hank we can go un-opposed in our Goals. Also you are going to receive a nice compensation as well for finding and helping us take out their base of operations."

The Clone walks down the alley a ways and calls back to me: "Think about it for a few minutes: you are going to be promoted into the ATP almost immediately, the Auditor himself is going to come from Fortress Alpha to congratulate you an offer you a position in his personal army, you are going to be envied and adored by the whole Agency. And to think; all you would have to do is tell us how many people are inside and help us raid the building. That is all there is to it."

I pause, the offer tempting to the point that it hurts just to think about all of the rewards I would receive…but…I can't. Time slows down as I delve deep into my thoughts.

I can't take this offer. I have come to find myself again…I can't go back to the sheep I once was…my duties call me again, and I can't shrug them aside like I have been for the last year. No…I have MY goals to reach, not some Agency's goals that I don't even know about. I have The Grey to benefit…Darkness has clouded the world where Light was once to strong. This Darkness could destroy humanity if the AAHW continues its war path just as the Light almost did.

It suddenly dawns on me on how much power that I held at that moment. If I make my choice here, any choice, I could change the fate of the world. I could destroy it or I could turn it to the point of progression again. The Light in the world has faded; now it is not too bright, now we can see the shadows. But darkness could leave us just as blind if we don't balance it again. I have a goal now, and I am going to make all of the fools in the world pay for all that they have measured me up against. This man thinks I am weak, that I will take the deal because I am weak and that I am going to be strong in the AAHW. Well, he has underestimated me. I won't take the deal and I will start back onto my path once again.

Time starts running at its normal pace and I call out to the Clone: "Hey, come back here. I want to talk more about this deal. It sounds amazing!"

The ATP Engineer turns around and says: "I figured as much, it is too good of an offer for an Agent of your status."

The Engineer gets close to me and I hold out my hand for a handshake, the Engineer holds out his hand in the same manner as well. But before his hand grasps mine I step forward and I bring my knee up and I thrust my knee into his stomach, dropping him to his knees. He grasps my shirt as he struggles to take in breath and stand up. A few seconds later he gasps out the words: "Why?"

I grab him by the throat and I push him down to the ground, his head slamming and cracking on the asphalt of the alley-way. I wrap both my hands around his throat and I start squeezing the life out of him, his legs bucking our underneath him as he tries to get away. But it is all in vain as his eyes start to cloud over and he tries to choke out a final breath. Before the man dies I lean in close and I say into his ear: "Because I am strong! I have the Shadows at my side! I can finally break free of the life of monotony that you have embraced. The first thing I am going to do is start repaying my debt with your soul!"

The Engineer, with his last bit of energy before he dies, gropes for his satchel, trying to go for his gun. I take one hand off of his throat and I bat his arm away, the panic starting to show on his face. How odd…only moments before his death does he start to feel emotions…what a pity that his last feeling is 'Fear'…

Soon the ATP Clone is dead, the life strangled out of his body. I grab up his satchel and I start heading back to the theater, the feeling of purpose in my life a welcome sensation. I start to leave the alley, but I sense someone else standing behind me, I turn around, reaching into the satchel and drawing out the Glock as I do so; bringing up the sights on the person as soon as I face him. But I let the gun drop to my side along with my arm once I see that it is Grim, sticking part way out of a wall covered in shadow. I say to him:

"What do you want this time?"

Grim steps further out of the shadows, stepping down onto the asphalt below him. Grim smiles a knowing smile and says: "Oh I just came back to say that I was right. You have found your old self again, thankfully. Also I wanted to let you know that your contract has been shortened again, also by ten years. Now all you have to do is collect 9985 more souls to be freed of your contract. Good luck with that number, but I have seen rarer occurrences before…"

I think about the number and I say to Grim, the suspicion of being swindled an obvious thought on my mind: "What about all those other people that I have killed when I was on the way here to Nevada? What about all of the kills that I made while I was in the AAHW?"

Grim paces towards me, shaking a bony finger at me and saying: "It doesn't work that way, you have to move on your goals for this deal to work. But now that you are on the right path I am sure that every man that you kill from now will decrease your sentence."

Grim pauses as he walks past me and he reaches into his cloak, saying to me as he does so: "Now that you are back to your old self, I think that you deserve to have these back. Your research is yet to be finished, I'm afraid."

Grim takes out the two journals from his cloak and he hands them to me, and as soon as he places them in my hands he reaches back into his cloak and he takes out a gun, holding the barrel; the butt of the handgun pointing out for me to take.

He says to me as my fingers wrap around the dark black finish of the handle: "I am giving this to you under the faith that you will continue on your goals. This weapon is yours to keep until you die. But if you wander off track this weapon will be the one that takes your life and I will be there to make sure that that happens."

I look over the weapon, the barrel is extremely long, over a foot in length. I open up the chamber of the weapon, five perfect slots for five large, murderous rounds. The weapon is a Smith &amp; Weston 500, a high caliber, and quite frankly, a scary weapon. After a few moments the weapon vibrates slightly and explodes into shadow, slight pieces of darkness falling to the ground and merging with my own shadow. I look around the ground, the particles of darkness moving into my shadow.

Grim steps back towards me and stares me in the eyes and he says: "Don't screw this up. Either way you slice it or any path that you take you are not part of Us. No matter what forces attack you, you shall have no support from us, except for what little help I may or may not give you. Just remember that before you launch yourself into a fight."

I nod and say: "But that isn't unlike how I have been living over the past 3 years. Things have always been against me. And with the AAHW now at my throat I have no choice but to fight them before they have time to kill me."

Grim shakes his head slowly and says in a slightly forlorn tone: "What has happened to you? You are still not yourself…in time I guess…I can't expect one as traumatized as yourself to grasp his old self so quickly. It is not the mortal enemies that you know about that you must spend time worrying over. There are other gods, other ethereal factions that want you dead for their own means. Their acolytes are all over the world, seeking out what their gods tell them too. There are many of them, and most of them are enemies of Us, The Grey. Be careful, because as soon as you decided to walk your path again they also knew."

Grim turns away from me, dissolving into shadow as he does so, but as he disappears he leaves two words that give me a slight bit of hope: "Good Luck…"

I sigh to myself. I have one option right now: to join up with Hank. But I am not going to be his puppet to his organization just like I am not going to be a puppet to the AAHW. No, I am a whole new kind of person…who knows, maybe I could start an organization to my cause someday in the future.

I look up to the sky, the storm that I heard earlier in the day finally over head, the dark clouds above releasing a few droplets of water. As the small drops hit the ground I start back on my way to the Theater. I have a lot of explaining to do, but I am sure that they will know I am telling the truth…at least I hope so…


	8. Part Eight: Who Was I Once Before?

Part Eight

As I walk back to the plaza where the Theater stands, the rain starts to pour down from the red bathed Heavens. The rain is driving down, slamming down to the ground and soaking the street within the first few seconds. I, of course, was not spared by the rain; I too was soaked long before I reach the plaza.

As I reach the Theater, I spot Sanford lying on the ground, unconscious, his hook lying where he had left it. His radio buzzed; someone on the other end was trying to make contact with him. I reach down and take up the radio, the speaker chiming, trying to get the attention of the man on the other end.

I press down the transmit button and a voice speaks out of the radio: "Sanford? Where are you? We have searched the entire building but we haven't found him yet. Did he get past you somehow?"

I speak into the radio, dreading the next couple of minutes once they realize who is speaking to them: "No, Sanford is unconscious right outside of the Theater. I am also outside, I would bring some bandages with you; Sanford has a nasty wound on the back of his head."

I drop the radio as the person on the other end started shouting out orders to the people that heard the message. I move a few paces away from Sanford's body, making sure that they don't assume that I am attacking him further. I take off the satchel that I looted off of the ATP Engineer and I set it down, sitting down on the wet pavement as I do so. Not thirty seconds later, a dozen men armed with sub-machine guns and handguns storm out of the front doors of the Theater. Following after them is the hulking form of Hank Wimbleton, a large sword grasped in his left hand. The whole group is pointing their weapons at me. Their intent to capture or kill me is obvious, but I put my hands above my head to show I have no weapons to use against them.

Hank steps from the group, takes up Sanford's body and passes it off to a couple of grunts that wandered out the building after him, the two of them rushing the unconscious man back inside. Hank turns back to me, his blood-red shades standing out in the darkness, the anger broadcast from his eyes intensified by the shades. Hank gestures to where Sanford had been lying and says: "I am going to assume that you are going to say that you didn't do that. And even if you didn't knock out my comrade you still escaped…but I will leave assumptions to the side for now; what do you have to say for yourself?"

I look up into his eyes, rain dripping off the sides of his shades, and I say: "I would like to join your cause."

Hank laughs, the rest of the group joining in with his laughter. I don't blame them, the entire idea of it is preposterous, even if it is true that I want to join them. Hank finishes laughing and points at me, saying: "Now, even if that were true, why would we? You are already part of The Agency, even if you have already been disbarred. You would still be a threat to us no matter who or what you are."

I nod at his words and I say: "Well, given that there is no way for me to simply join your group, I guess I have to gain your trust."

Hank pauses, and thinks for a few minutes. Hank opens his mouth and says slowly: "My trust? How would you gain that, if we were to even let you go?"

I look up at the sky, the rain growing heavier since we started talking. I stand up slowly and I say to Hank: "Is it okay if we were to discuss this more inside? There is no point in staying out here, I am sure that your men are just as tired of sitting out in the rain as we are."

Hank looks over his shoulder, back at the lobby doors of the Theater, and turns back to me gesturing back at the doors, saying: "Sure, but we are still keeping an eye on you. You walk in first, and we are going to make sure that you don't do anything that you will live to regret."

I start towards the doors of the Theater and I say to Hank as I pass him: "You don't have to worry about that, I am not your enemy."

Soon all of us are back inside the building, navigating our way through the hallways and passages that make up the Theater. The Theater isn't extremely big: only about 3 or 4 theater rooms where movies were once played. We make it past the 4th theater and we walk up the stairs to the projector room, where rolls of old films and cartridges of new films are stacked on shelves lining the walls of the room. In the center of the room is a large table with a few chairs sitting around it. I take up one of the chairs and I set it on the other side of the table, sitting down as I place the chair on the group. Hank turns back to the group that followed us up to the room and says: "You guys can go back to your posts now. I can handle whatever this guy might try to dish out."

The group salutes and walks back down the stairs, their boots squelching from wetness of the rain that they tracked into the building. One of the soldiers from the groups stays behind in the room, holding the satchel that I took from the Clone. Hank points to an empty shelf at the side of the room and says: "Just set it there, also, grab the items that we confiscated from…"

Hank turns back to me and asks: "What is your name, Agent?"

I say back to him: "My name is Max Shockley. Or as the Agency called me: Agent #1671331."

Hank glares at me slightly, but turns back to the soldier and says: "Just bring back his stuff and put it on that shelf."

The soldier salutes and walks back down the stairs, his shoes also squelching as he makes his descent. Hank turns back to me and reaches into his pocket and draws out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Hank places them on the table and slides them to me. I look down at the pack, the smell of the tobacco a musty yet familiar scent. I pick up the pack and I hand it back to him, saying as I do so: "Sorry, but I don't smoke."

Hank chuckles a little and tosses the pack across the room into a small waste bin sitting next to the door. Hank pulls out a chair and sits down, but just as he gets settled in the seat one of the Medical Grunts runs up the chairs and says to Hank: "Sanford has woken up. He is wondering what happened."

Hank waves the Grunt away and says: "Just tell him to come up the projector room four, we'll explain what happened to him, if he is well enough to walk."

The Grunt nods and says: "He is well. He says he is just a little dizzy, that is all."

Hank turns around, nodding to himself and he says to me: "We are going to wait here until Sanford gets back."

I look around the room and I say: "That's fine with me, we have all the time in the world."

Five minutes pass and the expected sound of boots on steps is heard. I sit up in my seat as Sanford walks unsteadily into the room, a new wad of bandages wrapped around his forehead. Sanford looks up and sees me, but his face is devoid of any new emotion. He walks to the table, pulls out one of the chairs and plops down into the seat.

Following after Sanford is one of the soldiers, my cloak and bag in his hands. He moves to the shelf and places the items next to the satchel. He turns back away from the shelf and exits the room, pausing for a moment before he leaves to see if there are any more orders, but is waved off by both Hank and Sanford.

Hank and Sanford turn back to me, but I don't say anything to them. I instead get up and walk over to the shelving. I take up the cloak and the Shades of the shelf, leaving the other items laying where they are. I wrap the cloak around me, the edges of the garment nearly touching the ground, but I leave the hood of the cloak hanging down behind my head. It is rude, after all, to hide your face from people you want to impress.

I take the shades and I place them back in their place; the room becoming a few shades darker. I walk back to the table, sit down in my seat and I say: "Okay, so where should we start?"

Hank growls and slams a fist into the table, the face of the table warping from the impact of his fist. Bolts of Nexus Energy arc across the surface of the table. Hank yells: "You were the one that wanted to talk with us! What do you mean by: 'Where should we start?' This is all your deal right now!"

Sanford nods and says with a bit of weariness in his voice: "At any rate, how would someone like you, who we have captured and held prisoner, prove to us that he is trustworthy, even though he was formerly allied with our enemies."

I smile and say with a hint of malice in my voice: "I am not the same man that you held captive a short while ago. I have already killed one of my superiors, but before that he said he had tracked my location and brought a small company of ATP Soldats. The Agency knows that we are out here, but I don't believe they know why. And I plan to keep your whereabouts a secret. If, by chance, this siege party of Soldats were to not make it back the upper management would assume they were ambushed by Zeds or Bandits. Your base would stay safe and your plans to take down the Agency will proceed from here."

Hank squints at me, obviously considering the deal. Sanford looks at Hank, then looks back at me and says: "Not to be the devil's advocate, but you are just an Agent; an un-upgraded one at that. How would you be able to take out a siege party of Soldats, which I am guessing is about 30 men strong?"

I nod to what he says, but I say back to him: "Yes, I am just an Agent. But that is just what the Agency thinks of me. I am unique, I am my own person with my own skills that rank above those that are practiced by the AAHW. I am going to prove to you that I can kill for your goals, and more importantly, my own goals."

Hank finishes his thoughts and he says to me, a slight spark of interest visible behind his red shades: "The one thing that is helping your case, to me at least, is your sense of personality. You are your own person, yet you are…well…were part of the Agency. The Agency is more for unity, rather than personal strengths, all men are equal in their own ranks. If they do show some sort of talent then they are simply promoted to a point that their talent can't take them further."

Hank pauses, but I don't say anything, waiting to see what else this man has to say. Hank takes a breath and says: "Here is what I propose to you. You take out the party of Soldats; you leave from here now and 30 minutes from then we will move to attack them ourselves. If you haven't taken out the entire group by the time we get there, you can forget about is taking you in and helping you with your cause. However, if you manage to kill all of them they you can join with us, our limited resources will be up to debate for you to use, but we will iron out the small stuff when and if you get back alive."

I smile, stand up and I hold out my hand for a handshake. Say to Hank: "Thank you for your faith in the matter. I will not fail in this task; that much you can be sure of."

Hank shakes my hand firmly, and I hold back a grunt of pain as my knuckles and bones grind together in his grasp. Hank smiles and says: "It's been a year since I was magnified, yet I am still not used to my strength. Sorry about that."

I walk around the table, massaging my hand making sure that the bones aren't broken. I move to the shelves, rummage around in my pack, and I take out one of my dirks, a small pouch that contains a few needles, a spool of thread and a small roll of gauze. I walk back to the table, I set the knife down and the package down, rolling up my sleeve after I place the items on the table. I turn to Hank and Sanford and I say to them: "There is one thing that we need to deal with before I go."

Sanford looks down at the knife and then looks up at my arm and says: "It's the chip the Agency implanted in your arm."

I nod and I say: "Yes, apparently it is not just used for gathering information and statistics on the person it is implanted in. Before I killed on of the ATP engineers he told me that the Agency can track any operative at any moment in time by tracking the chip."

Hank points down the hallway and says: "You do know that we have medical staff that can take the chip out. We have many defectors to our cause, I'm sure that your chip could be taken out with very little trouble."

I shake my head and I point to the knife, saying as I do so: "No. The both of you need to be present. Not so I can show you that I am being truthful in my actions, but because I need to show you that this is how far I will go to prove that I am not one of your enemies."

Hank shakes his head and says: "You know what? You are just something else."

Hank looks at Sanford and gestures to the blade, saying: "Well? You take the knife. If I were to try to do it I would damn near cut his arm off."

Sanford looks back at Hank and says: "And a man that is concussed is going to do any better? Fine, but if he does lose an arm then we are tossing him out."

Sanford takes up the dirk and stands up from the table. I sit down on the floor, my arm and forearm laying on the table. Sanford puts a finger on my upper arm and starts feeling around for the chip. After few passes he finds the chip, placing the edge of the blade where he felt the bit of electronics beneath my skin. Sanford looks at me and says: "You sure you don't want a doctor to do this? I am sure that he could numb your arm for you if you wanted."

I shake my head and point to the scar below my eye and I say: "It is fine. I had to sew this up by myself without a painkiller, so I am sure that I can take the pain from something like this."

Sanford nods but says back: "Yeah, I am sure that was painful, but it doesn't mean we have to repeat it."

I shrug, saying: "It doesn't matter to me, the sooner you take out this chip, the sooner I can leave to take out the siege party."

Sanford sighs and repositions the knife, steadying his hand before he makes the cut. Not a moment later the sharp blade slices down into my flesh, blood pooling in the wound and dribbling down my arm. Sanford pulls the knife back and then places it back in the cut, preparing to make another slice; one more cut and it will reach the chip in my arm. The blade slides back through the blood and cuts deeper in my arm, the final cut about a centimeter and a half deep. Sanford sets the blade to the side. My teeth are still clenched as I try to appear unfazed by the pain. Sanford then opens up the small package and pulls out a set of tweezers. He plunges the tool back into my wound, another shock of pain shooting up my arm, causing me to grit my teeth harder.

After a few moments, Sanford has successfully taken out the chip: a small square of silicon with a few small wires and leads coiling off of the chip meant to monitor conditions inside my body. Also attached to the ship is an extremely small cylinder, attached to the chip by a slightly thicker lead, possibly the battery of Nexus Energy that the Engineer told me about.

Sanford sets down the chip and tweezers and opens up the package again, this time taking out a needle and the thread. Sanford threads the needle and begins sewing up my arm, the blood flow slowing as he works the needle across the wound, closing the gash with the threads. Sanford looks at his handiwork and he says to me as he wraps up my arm with a bit of gauze: "Well, I may not of earned a medical degree before the world ended, but I must say that is the best stitching that I have ever done."

I laugh, relieved that the chip is finally out of my arm. I say to Sanford: "Well as long as it heals up, we don't have to worry about that degree." I point at the chip and I say in a more serious tone: "Oh, and do you mind if I take that chip. I just thought of something useful I could do with it."

Sanford takes up the chip and places it in my outstretched hand and he asks: "What do you need it for?"

I pluck the small cylinder off the chip, the slight crackle of Nexus Energy is heard from the wire disconnecting…Yes…I can definitely use this to my advantage. I look at Sanford and I say: "Oh? It's nothing major: just a little experiment I want to do with the Nexus Energy."

Hank and Sanford glance at each other, obviously still wondering if they can trust me yet.

I wave the question away and I say to them as I pick up my things and walk back to my bags on the shelf: "I will let you know more about it once we all have found that we can trust each other. Trust is a two sided issue, after all."

Hank nods and says: "Just get going. We have to prepare for when we have to bail you out thirty minutes from now."

I finish putting on my back pack and the satchel and placing the blades in their sheaths. I turn back to hank and I say, finally eager for a challenge: "I can assure you that I will not need to be bailed out."

Hank chuckles dryly and says: "Well that remains to be seen, my friend."

I nod and I reply: "And you will see."

I turn and I head out of the room, sprinting down the stairs and then out the building. I finally have a missions to really carry out, and something tells me I am going to learn a bit more about who I once was by carrying out this mission. I step outside into the darkness of the late night storm, pulling up my hood as I walk into the street, rain falling at a steady rate.

Soon I reach the alley where I had killed The Clone. I peek around the corner into the shadow of the opening and just like I suspected, a patrol of the siege group had found the body. The patrols seldom search over a half a kilometer out from their base, so I must be close.

Two ATP Soldats are inspecting the body of the ATP Engineer, their eye pieces aglow as they switch filters to find out how he died. One of the Soldats leans in, finally finding something with one of his filters. He points to The Clone and says: "It looks like he has been strangled. From what the thermal filter tells us, he shouldn't have died more than twenty minutes ago."

The other Soldat lifts up his eyepiece and says in a gruff tone: "It looks like this guy's got into a…suffocating situation."

The Soldat jumps back and pumps both of his hands into it the air, screaming: "YHHHHAAOOOOOOOOUUUGGGGGHHHH!"

The Soldat that was examining the body picks up his AR-15 and slams the butt of the rifle into the other Soldat's stomach, cutting off his triumphant scream. He says to the Soldat as he is doubled over in pain: "You gotta knock that off! You do that every single time we figure out how one of our guys die! It was funny the first time but this is ridiculous. Fuckin' hell…."

I back away from the corner that I was peeking around, ignoring what I just saw. I look down at my hand and I think: 'The weapon that Grim gave me disintegrated once it was in my hands, but I am pretty sure I can get it back. All I have to do is concentrate on the weapon and it should reform in my hand. But I am going to need a bit more juice if am to keep it up.'

I reach into my cloak and I take out the Nexus Battery that was taken off the chip. I place it in my palm, wrapping my fingers around the small cylinder. I close my eyes and I concentrate on the energy inside of the battery. There isn't a lot of energy left inside of the battery, but it is enough to last me for an hour or so…I hope…

The battery sparks in my hand, the energy that it once held arcing into my palm. I gasp in the pain of the shock, but the feeling of more energy surging through my body drives away the pain. I move to the alleyway once more, surprised that the Soldats did not hear me. I concentrate again, this time on my own shadow, imagining it forming an object. Even though it is night, I can feel my own shadow, molding and moving with every movement I make; soon, the Smith &amp; Wesson is in my hands.

I look into the cylinder of the weapon, but to my dismay I see that it is not loaded. I guess I am going to have to find some real bullets to use this weapon. I let go of the gun, letting it fall to the ground. As soon as it hits the concrete I am standing on it shatters silently back into shadow, forming back on itself and becoming part of my shadow once again.

'I guess there is no helping it' I think to myself as I reach into my satchel and draw out the Glock. 'I just have to improvise until I can really step into my role again.'

I step from my cover and I aim the Glock at the closest Soldat, who is carrying an M-16. A pull of a trigger later I was pushed into a fight at was bigger than I first thought, but it is too late to avoid it. My path is set, now I just have to follow it.


	9. Part Nine: Something is Missing

Part Nine: Something is Missing…

I step from my cover and I aim the Glock at the closest Soldat, who is carrying an M-16. The other Soldat is facing away from me, examining the corpse of the ATP Engineer I had shot earlier. His rifle is propped up against the brick of the alleyway.

The handgun bucks in my hands as I pull the trigger;the shot flies true, and I drop the first Soldat, his body collapsing from under him and crumpling to the ground next to the corpse of the ATP holes in his head, one in his temple and a large hole in the back of his skull, oozed yellow blood.

I sprint into the alleyway The second soldat grabs his AR and shoulders it to shoot at me, but before he can pull the trigger, I close the distance between us, batting the gun out of his hands and pointing the Glock between his eyes. He takes a single step back, his eyes going wide at the surprise of what will happen to him.

I end his fear with a bullet from my Glock.…'I just killed two Soldats…the elite of The Agency" I muse. "…what a lie I have been living this past year.'

I kneel down by the Soldat, rummaging through his pockets for any clues as to where their outpost might be. I didn't find much: only a small handful of change and a large ball of pocket lint. I pocket the change and toss the lint to the side as I move to search the other Soldat. This Soldat is wearing a small knapsack on his back, his yellow blood soaking into the coarse cloth. The knapsack looks empty, but I take a look anyways: Inside,there are a few loose rounds of ammunition and a couple AR-15 and M-16 Magazines. I take the pack off of his back and flip him over so I can search his pockets. Success. I discover a slip of crumpled, albeit sweaty, paper with some sloppy handwriting on it. I unfold the paper, revealing an address scrawled in blue ink: "High Crest Apt., 610, Lampson St."

I fold the paper back up and pocket it. Of course they would hole up in an apartment building: it has plenty of rooms to hide and ambush from and windows on every floor and side of the building to see who is coming. Given that there are 28 Soldats left, I would imagine that they have already barricaded every entrance except for the front lobby.

I shake my head and say to myself: "No use complaining about their position, I am going to have to get around it one way or another. But first things first, I have to make sure that they don't find these bodies…who knows if another patrol might be out."

I look up and down the alley, rainwater running down the gutters in small rivulets. Rain funnels down the small holes in a nearby a man-hole cover. I dig my fingers into these holes and, with some effort, I manage to uncover the manhole. I start dragging the bodies towards the manhole, their yellow blood smearing across the asphalt before it gets washed away by the rain. A minute in a half later, the bodies are new residents of the sewers, the rain washing away what little blood is left.

I move to a dumpster that is sitting in the alley, placing my backpack, the knapsack inside along with the M-19 and its ammunition. I keep the satchel at my side and I also take the AR-15 with me, as well as two the two clips that were in the knapsack. I place the Glock in my jacket, a felt holster sewn inside for the purpose of holding a weapon…or mints. Always room for mints when there is no weapon to carry.

I start off towards Lampson Street; the road is about a quarter of a kilometer away. Luckily, I know where the hotel; I know my way around this city. However, I have never set foot inside of that place; the number of zeds milling around the area is a great deterrent to any potential explorer in that area.

As I arrive at Lampson Street, I proceed silently and swiftly, staying inside the shadow of the building next to me. High Crest Apartment sits in the middle of a plot of 4 vacant lots: construction sites for the other High Crest hotels halted due to the apocalypse. Building materials and machinery lay about the area, rusted and disused, standing idle to build buildings that will never be finished.

I look across all the materials and equipment strewn across the construction site. At the bottom floor of the standing High Crest Apartment, a single Soldat stands sentry in the lobby. I then glance over the glazed surface of the building, balconies and windows covering each side of the building. There are going to be observers on every side of the building, looking for any sign of trouble, living or dead.

I retreat back into the shadow of the building I was spying from. Sitting down against the wall, I think to myself: 'This is not good…there must be some way I can make it over there without being seen.'

I start pacing the alley, I am running out of time. I have to clear out this entire building before Hank and his men show up. How can I make it over there without getting filled with bullets? I pause mid-stride, a thought flashing through my mind:

'Wait…they don't know that I killed the ATP Engineer or the other Soldats. As far as they are concerned I am in a neutral field. I can approach without them shooting because they are going to want whatever information I can give them about Hank's whereabouts. All I have to do is walk over there, from that point it should move on without a hitch…unless I get shot in the process of attacking them…'

'...No. I can't think about that now, I just have to go over there and I will work out the rest.'

I sling the AR-15 over my shoulder and I casually stroll out of the alley way, making sure that my hands are in plain sight. Soon I am about 10 meters from the lobby doors, desks and bulletin boards barricading the majority of the windows to either side of the doors.

The Soldat that was standing sentry just inside the lobby opens up the door, a QBZ-95 with an ACOG scope fastened to the rails of the rifle. He points the gun at me and says: "We expected you to be here a lot earlier than this you know. Also, where is the Armorer? I assumed that he would be with you."

I shake my head, sighing. I reply: "He is dead."

The Soldat starts in surprise. "What? How? How did you let that happen?"

I hold out my hands in front of me, trying to calm down the guy before he does anything stupid. "We were attacked by a horde of Zeds. I tried my best to get him out of their hands, but he was bit before I could do anything."

The Soldat shakes his head and says: "Damn…I was sure that he would make it make it back here…"

He lets the QBZ rest in his arms, the barrel of the weapon edging away from me. I let my arms fall down to my sides and I start taking slow, steady paces towards the Soldat. The Soldat squints at the AR-15 slung across my back. He says with dawning suspicion: "Wait…isn't that Tom's AR?"

I put a hand under my cloak and coil my fingers around the handle of my dirk. I take a step forwards.

"It was. But he won't need it anymore. A dead man in the sewers has nothing to fend off."

I rush the Soldat, driving the point of the Dirk in the side of his throat. His golden blood runs down the cold steel of my dirk as it punched through the other side of his neck. I step back, wrenching the blade out of his jugular, tearing out the entirety of his throat. As collapses I seize the back of his jacket draging him further under the overhang of the building. The look of betrayal on his face lingers, even after his death, a fading accusation directed at me.

I appropriate the fallen man's Bullpup rifle and I step inside the Lobby. 27 more to go, 270 more years taken off my contract.

As I enter the Apartment lobby, I notice that all of the stairwells are obstructed by heaps of rubble. They must have brought a couple of bricks of explosives to lock down the more difficult places to barricade. That leaves me one option…the elevator.

I cross the deserted expanse of the lobby. All of the desks and chairs that used to make the area comfortable are now slammed up against the windows of the lobby. ATP Soldats are very efficient at all that they do, up until technical support is needed; that is where the ATP Engineers come in. That would likely explain the crude, but effective barricades. But the Engineers are also the weaker of the two…and this building is full of Soldats.

These thoughts cross my head as I stride towards the elevator, pressing the ground floor button and waiting for the car to come down to the lobby. It is more than likely that they heard the elevator coming down; from this point on they are going to know that something is up. I just have to play it cool when I talk to the next Soldat.

The elevator doors ding open and I step inside the metal box, the interior of the whole car pockmarked with bullet holes and covered with scratches from Zed claws. Someone was fighting here when the apocalypse first started...it seems they didn't make it out alive.

I look up at the flickering florescent light that is dangling down by a few cables and some wire. I press the button to go to the 6th floor, hoping that the cables don't snap before I reach my destination.

1 minute later, the doors ding open again, revealing 3 Soldats. Their weapons aren't pointed at me, but they are held low; ready in their hands. The lead Soldat steps forward and, ushering me out of the elevator, asking: "Where is George? I thought he would be riding up the elevator with you."

I grab the barrel of the QBZ that is in my hands and I place the butt of the weapon against the ground, leaning on the bull-pup like a cane. These Soldats seem to have a hard time recognizing their comrade's weapons, which comes at a great surprise to me. I guess it is because of the stress of me showing up unexpectedly and the stress of squatting in a rundown, Auditor-Forsaken building.

I say to the lead Soldat: "He said that he was going to stay down there and keep his post. He did say something about meeting someone though."

The 3 Soldats look at one another and the Soldat to the left asks in a confused tone: "Who would George be meeting? There is no one but you and us around here."

I grin and I say: "Oh, but there is, he is the same guy that you all shall meet very soon. His name is Death."

My dirk becomes a flash of silver as it darts out from under my jacket. I stab it into the lead Soldat's chest, with my left hand I unholster my Glock and I fire off three shots into the head of the Soldat on my right. I pull the blade out of the lead Soldat's chest, yellow blood clinging to the knife and spattering across the floor as I charge the next Soldat. The last Soldat shoulders his gun, an AK-74u, but as he squeezes the trigger, I push-kick him, sending him flying out of the window and down to a bed of concrete 60 feet below.

The errant shots the Soldat fired pass harmlessly over my shoulder and smash into the wall behind me. I pick up my QBZ and I continue walking down the hall, towards apartment 610, the sounds of the Soldats preparing for an attack echoing down the corridor. I wipe the edge of my dirk on the jacket of the Soldats, placing it back in my cloak after I clean the blade of the Soldat's yellow blood. The Glock returns to my jacket pocket and I start advancing down the hallway, my sights set on apartment 610.

I reach the door of the apartment I was hoping to breach, but as I put my hand on the doorknob a hailstorm of lead shreds the wood of the door, causing me to dive for cover. I duck into an alcove, the door to apartment 608 right beside me. The door opens and a Soldat emerges, a Colt Snub nose in his hand. I bring up the butt of the QBZ and slam it down on his wrist, knocking the weapon out of his hand. I shoulder the bullpup and fire a quick burst into his chest, the rounds shattering his ribs and punching straight through his torso. I duck into the room as 3 more Soldats burst out of room 610, assault rifles at the ready.

I run deeper into the apartment, ducking behind the most substantial bit of cover in the room: a dresser. Not a moment later the Soldats open fire, bullets whizzing past my shelter, gouging troughs and holes in the wood panels I am hiding behind. I take my QBZ and I start blind firing. The return fire from the other side of the room stops as the Soldats dodge away to avoid getting hit by my bullets.

I toss aside my weapon, its magazine spent. Standing from my cover, I draw one of my dirks with one hand, the Glock with the other. I aim the pistol at the door and steady my breathing in preparation for my counter attack.

One of the Soldats peeks around the corner, his eyepiece switching into a different filter as he tries to evaluate the tactical situation. I hurl the knife across the room and the tip of the blade pierces his eye piece. He falls to the ground, screaming, the dirk embedded up to its hilt. Yellow blood spews from the wound.

I burst from my cover, drawing yet another dirk and charging the door. The two unwounded Soldats stand at either side of the doorframe, ready to unleash another volley of gunfire. I cross the threshold and I stab the Soldat on the right in the throat whilst firing 3 shots into the chest of the attacker to my left.

I let go of the hilt of the blade, leaving it impaled in the dead man's chest. The last Soldat is lying on the floor, writhing in pain. I have nothing else to worry about from him; he couldn't hurt me in his current state, even if he tried. But I can't leave him here to slowly bleed to death. I am not a sadist.

I kneel down, place the Glock against the Soldat's temple, and fire off two rounds. The spasms of pain that once shook the Soldat's body mercifully end. Maybe he could have made it, but in a world where a difference in any manner could lead to your death, maybe it is better off for him to live elsewhere. This world is fractured and broken...having a wound that makes you dependent gets you killed. Having a wound that sets you apart from others makes you something even worse: an individual. In an agency where unity is the one true law, an individual cannot survive...i was lucky to make it out before the saw my mind break loose.

I look up at the ceiling. The sounds of footfalls and loading weapons hints that there is more to fight. I step back through the hallway, but as I am about to enter the elevator, I pause.

'This is a problem, I don't know where all of the Soldats are. In training we were always assigned a floor or a room to look after with a group of other fighters. I wouldn't think that the Soldats would deviate from their training, unless they knew that their threat was close to them. I need to find out how many are on each floor.'

I turn and jog back to the Soldat that I stabbed in the chest. I search his pockets quickly, but I find no intel on where the other Soldats are.

'He must have known at one point where everyone was stationed' I thought: 'If only he were still alive…no, even then he still wouldn't have told me.'

Kneeling down, a new thought arose in my mind: 'Maybe he doesn't need to be alive to tell me…he hasn't been dead for very long…maybe…'

I yank the knife out of his chest and I stab it into his temple, leaving a bit of the blade exposed. I rest my finger on the blade and I concentrate hard on the Nexus Energy that I have absorbed. Soon, a spark arcs across my finger, into the body, and back to my hand.. I jump back as I start to see things, images from the last few moments of his life.

I stagger back against the opposite wall, hands holding the sides of my head as splitting pain throbs within. I slam into the wall again and again, the pain growing greater. I bash my fist into the wall, caving in a section of drywall. As I fall to the ground, a muted scream erupts from my mouth.

Finally the pain recedes and I stand, sweat glistening on my forehead. Half panting, I manage to squeeze some words through my vocal chords.

"Yeah…I am not doing that again."

At least I got the information that I needed:

_-There are two Soldats out on patrol, scouting out for any Zed hordes or Bandit hideouts._

_-There are no other Soldats on the floors below me, except for one on the ground floor. But he has already been dealt with._

_-On the floor above me there are six Soldats, armed similarly to the Soldats that I have fought so far._

_-On the floor above them, the very top floor, there are 13 Soldats. Obviously where they have set up their main operations._

There, that is all 30 Soldats, including the ones I've killed…wait…there is one more person on the roof... But he is not a Soldat. It seems that the man that I took the thoughts from never even observed this new person, he just heard rumors that someone new was up there.

Someone powerful.

I am shaken from my thoughts as the elevator doors ding open. 3 Soldats emerge from the car, two of them armed with refurbished MP-40s and the other armed with a Mossberg.

I fire off the remaining 7 rounds in my Glock, killing the one of the submachine gun-armed Soldats. Two of the other bullets graze the Soldat with the Mossberg, dropping him to one knee, blood running down his shoulder and his thigh. The unwounded Soldat opens fire with his MP-40, the ancient weapon spewing lead as if it had left the production line this morning. I dive into the alcove of apartment 607, the recess barely enough to cover my body.

I drop the depleted Glock, the weapon clattering to the floor. I unsling the AR-15 over my shoulder, but as I rack a round into the chamber,I hear the Soldat with the Mossberg advance down the hallway, the booming explosions of a shotgun being fired matching each foot step.

I draw back the bolt again to take a quick peak inside. Luckily, it hasn't been fired since it was cleaned; it shouldn't jam. I guess that is why all the guns in this state are so reliable…they are always clean when they are picked off of bodies. The gunfire pauses for a moment and I peek around the corner. Both Soldats are reloading their weapons.

I open fire, blowing off the top of the advancing Soldat's head with two well-placed shots. The Soldat with the MP-40 finishes reloading, takes aim, and opens fire as I reach his dead comrade. I grab the dead Soldat by the throat and I continue down the hallway using the corpse as a body shield. The dead body jerks crazily as it absorbs the MP-40 rounds

I bring up the AR to my shoulder, holding the weapon with my right hand, and fire off 5 more shots. It is hard to control an assault rifle with one hand, but 3 of the rounds hit the Soldat in the chest. The other two rounds miss and ricochet of the elevator doors, pinging off the metal and shattering a window, the shards of glass tinkling to the ground far below.

I let go of my fleshy shield, the back of the body now torn open from the German Sub-Machine gun. I move to the elevator. The doors still open, patiently waiting for a passenger, unaware that its previous customers would never return. Before I step into the car I take up the MP-40 of the first Soldat I killed, slinging it onto my shoulder before I enter the elevator. I press the button for the next floor. The doors slide close with a cheery ding after I do so. The sound is horribly out of place in this blood soaked building.

The elevator drops slightly before it starts to ascend, and I growl slightly; I hate elevators, you never know when your enemies are going to cut the cables. Suddenly the speaker in the elevator crackles to life, spitting out static before it finally clears.

I look expectedly at the speaker, wondering what message the Soldats have for me. Instead, a garbled late 60's waiting music wafts out from the speaker.

I bring up the AR and I fire off 2 rounds. The intercom catches fire for a brief moment as it screeches out for one last time. The one thing I despise more than elevators…is elevator music.

Finally the doors ding open again, the brief happy tone promptly followed by the murderous sound of gunfire. I jump to the side as the rounds streak though the doors and strike the back of the elevator car. There are only three Soldats on this floor, and I imagine that the other 13 are waiting for me on the top floor

The gunfire pauses for a brief moment, but starts up again a few seconds later. The must be a Light-Machine gun or two over there to be able to be put out this many rounds. The gunfire stops again, and a brief moment of conversation passes in-between the three of them. Their whispered words inaudible to me.

Just as they finish talking among each other, I hear the sound of something landing outside of the elevator, a heavy thump at first and then a steady rolling sound. I look down at the floor of the elevator as a round object rolls into view.

'Oh Shit…'

I consider picking up the grenade and throwing it back, but that would take too long. I instead flip my AR in my hands, grabbing it by the barrel holding down towards the ground like a golf-club. I bring back the butt of the gun and swing it down as hard as I could, shouting as the grenade cracks against the stock of the gun, shattering the plastic shoulder stock:

"FORE, MOTHERFUCKERS!"

The grenade rockets across the room, plastic slivers trailing behind it. The explosive lands by the feet of the man that threw it. I hear exclamations of shock and surprise resounding from the group of three Soldats: expletives, screams.

The grenade explodes, sending shrapnel thudding into every object in the hallway. A moment after the initial explosion, a larger one goes off as other explosives that the Soldats carried also detonate, transforming the hallway into a charred mess of mangled body parts and collapsed debris.

I peek out from my cover. The parts of the Soldats are scattered across the now demolished hallway, their blood staining the walls and ceiling yellow. Over the epicenter of the explosion, a hole is blown in the ceiling. 2 more Soldats had fallen from the next floor, their bodies broken against the debris left from the explosion.

I step out of the elevator car, the car rocking back and forth from the force of the explosion. I look at either side of the hallway. Unfortunately the explosion damaged some support pillars on either side of the hall. As I clear the threshold of the elevator, a sharp snapping sound comes from above, and the elevator falls back down the shaft, the sound of metal twisting and concrete shattering resounding from the dark shaft below. I look back into the open shaft, the elevator shaft doors open on the floor above me, a pair of hands and heavy duty cable cutters being withdrawn as I do so.

I turn back to the hole in the ceiling. "Next time I am taking the stairs, I don't even care if they are blocked with rubble."

I move to the new opening to the next floor, fallen rubble conveniently piled against the walls, giving me another route to advance to the next floor. As soon as my head peeks through the hole in the floor, suppressive gunfire sounds out from the other end of the hallway where last set of elevator doors are recessed. I duck back down, bullets skipping through the air overhead.

The gunfire stops, and a single set of footsteps advances towards the hole. The rest of the group is probably providing overwatch from behind their cover.

I scowl to myself, those arrogant assholes. They think that one man can take me out.

I clamber back down the pile of exploded debris, waiting for this next Soldat to attack me. As I hit the floor I think to myself: 'How can I hope to make it past the 10 others?'

I frown introspectively. There must be something that I can do, but I will need more firepower to even be able to make it to the next floor. Wait…maybe I don't need more firepower…yes…I have all the power I need, I just need a new way to fuel it.

I scrambled back up onto the pile of rubble, the Soldats footsteps right above me now. As soon as the footsteps stop, in preparation to jump down to the floor below, I reach up and grab the man by the ankle, dragging him down and slamming him into the floor.

I drop down to the 7th floor again, my captive crashing down behind me, my hand still fastened around his leg. As he hits the ground I pin him down, my hand at his throat. I let loose the bolt of Nexus Energy down my arm into his body, his frame bucking and jumping at the charge of it. After he absorbed the small spark I concentrate on Energy and I try to bring it back out. Soon the spark jumps back into my hand, followed by a trove of life energy.

A start to drain his energy, fear all too obvious from my prey as he screams and writhes, making futile attempts to escape. A few moments later his movements and screams are reduced to weak twitching and quiet whimpers, as I drain his energy and will. The amount of power that I am draining is great, definitely enough power for me to finish my mission. The flow soon wanes and then all together stops. I look down at his face; the Soldat's cheeks are sunken in, and his shaved head is now a nest of silvery grey hair. Wrinkles folded his exposed skin as his clothes hung off of his thin, fragile frame.

The Soldat had died of old age by my own hand. I say to myself: "What a horrible way to die…indeed the powers of Death are great…but I must rein them back before I myself become a danger to the world. I will find my path again, no matter the cost."

I grab up the ancient Soldat's weapon, an Uzi. I place the Machine Pistol in the satchel, and I jump up to the next floor, now completely confident of my success. The ten soldats on the next floor are uneasy about me; the sounds of their comrade's screams had put a slight amount of doubt in their actions. I start striding towards their emplacement, AR-15 in hand. One of the Soldats shoulders his weapon, a 40mm grenade launcher, and fires. The grenade screams across the room and embeds itself in my chest, but I continue my advance. I smile with malicious glee as all of the Soldats begin an onslaught of lethal gunfire

Their efforts are utterly futile...

The rounds pass harmlessly through my body, puffs of shadow coming out of my back as the rounds exit my body, shadows wreathing out from my torso, curling and licking at the space around me. I bring up the AR and I fire off the entire clip, the rounds scything through the air and cutting down the Soldats in front of me. 6 of the Soldats are dead from the onslaught of the AR; only 4 remain.

I drop the empty AR-15 and I take the Uzi out of the satchel hanging on my side, spewing out the entirety of the clip again, killing all but one Soldat, who had ducked behind a large steel crate. The remaining Soldat bolts away, towards the stairs that lead to the roof. I chase after him, the frightened Soldat throwing blind shots over his shoulder with his side-arm, a Snub-Nosed S&amp;W .500.

The Soldat breaks through to the top of the roof and turns around, his back to the edge of an 8 story drop. He raises his sidearm in another desperate gesture, firing of the remaining three rounds as I run out onto the roof after him. The rain pours down, the droplets sliding off my cloak and hood as soon as I step into the torrent. The rounds pass though me harmlessly, just as every round did before. I lift up my last gun, the MP-40, and I snap off a quick burst. 4 of the low-caliber rounds embed themselves in the last Soldat's Chest. He falls forward, his weapon falling from his hand, yellow blood pooling around his immobile frame.

I step over the Soldats body, my toes on the very precipice of the building, and I look down towards the ground is the flattened corpse of the Soldat that I killed earlier far below. A few moments later, I see movement at the edge of the vacant lots: two men walking at a steady pace towards this building. One of them pauses as he sees me atop the building and after a quick word with his comrade the two of them sprint towards the hotel.

I think to myself: 'I guess it is time for a new experiment. This time I get to use my Smith and Wesson.'

I bend down and I grab a small clip on pouch from the belt of the Soldat I killed. Inside the pouch, I would guess, there are 30 .500 handgun rounds. I smile to myself as I take out two of the rounds, the smooth, cold surface of the brass soothing to me. I snap my fingers, the extra energy from the Soldat that I drained making the weapon that Grim gave me phase into existence with ease.

I load the two rounds into the cylinder of the weapon, dropping to one knee as I do so. I hold up the weapon, setting my sights on the last two men who dared to oppose me. They are roughly 100 meters away; a near impossible shot with any normal handgun, but the added length of this weapon's barrel and a few charges of Energy makes this shot as simple as if I were using a rifle.

I draw the hammer back on the weapon, letting out a breath, and pull the trigger. The heavy bullet rockets out from the weapon, speeding onwards to its target. The Soldat falls to the ground, his chest caved in from the force of the shot, his ribs and lungs nearly blown out of his back. I pull down the hammer with my thumb, snapping off the next shot, the round dead-set on killing the man it was directed at. The second Soldat, now completely certain of my threat to him dives off the side of the road towards a pyramid of concrete irrigation tubes. Before his body could clear the pipes the round slams into his thigh, blowing off his leg at the hip. Barely, over the wind, I can hear his agonized cries of pain and woe. I wish I could have made a killing shot; no warrior, whether he be my enemy or my ally deserves to die, by helplessly bleeding out.

I put the weapon away. My job is done, and now it is time to relax. I sit down at the ledge, my feet dangling over the edge. The rain finally petering off as the storm moves away. I open up the satchel at my side and I take out a can of Nevada Cola. I pop open the can and I take a sip, the life energy that I stolen fading slightly as I unwind.

I set the can down beside me…but a sudden prick of unease makes me look around the rooftop.

There should be someone up here, shouldn't there be?

I get up from the ledge and I make my way to the door that leads down from the roof, he must have ducked in here when I was shooting at the returning patrol. As I am about to step foot into the darkness of the building I hear a voice behind me.

"You know, you are leaving a bit too soon, don't you know?"

I spin on my heel, ready to attack, MP-40 in hand. I finally see the mystery man: His hat looks like it would be something a person at a burger joint would wear, and his jacket is fastened at the waist by a belt festooned with holsters and clips.

A man who should've been dead.

_**Deimos…**_

* * *

**Authors Note: A great thanks to Alias-Maxima, a friend and fellow writer that has edited this chapter and the 8th chapter. I am happy to join him, Spirit and the others of the Madness Revolution. They shall remain my Comrades, even when I am working on other projects. Thank You.**

**Long live the Madness Revolution!**

**~Max Shockley**


	10. Part Ten: What Are You Not Telling Me?

I take a half pace backwards; Deimos grinning savagely at me now, a megachette gripped in his left hand, a Beretta 92 grasped in his other, his grin widening.

"I must say I am quite surprised that you made it up here. 26 Soldats guarding the building, armed from toes to teeth. Impressive work from a man that is still just an Agent…an un-upgraded one at that."

I shake off the feeling of shock and panic. I must find out how he is alive... bBut, more importantly, why he is siding with The Agency. I start to make a slow and steady pace around my new opponent, trying to gauge an angle of attack. "Odd hearing that coming from a man that is supposed to be my ally.,"I say as I start to slide around him. "Also a queer thing to hear it from a man that was killed by one of the Possessed."

Deimos' grin shrinks a few molars, the patronizing glee that was held on his face now a fraction or two dimmer. I continue to edge around him, now facing his side, just barely out of his peripheral vision. He makes no move to turn towards me. as he replies:

"You should know that death in this broken reality has very little meaning. Why, Hank himself was revived a number of times, becoming yet again stronger as a result of each revival. Why is it so strange for me to be back, 'in the flesh', as it were?"

"I thought that the dregs of improbability only benefits those that are directly contributing to the chaos of the world," I snap back.

Deimos' grin leaves his face, a more recognizable, almost playful expression replacing it "You seem to forget what 'Improbably' means. Even I cannot explain it. Hell, the scientists and all the fools that did this have no idea what they are doing. The Auditor really is the only one that has any sway over the Core."

I continue my light shuffle, the back of Deimos' body now facing me. Deimos still yet to take action against my movements. I say subtly: "To bad that the Auditor died at the same place that you did. Otherwise that would give reason to why the Nexus still stands."

Deimos turns on the ball of his foot, his body turning at a speed that baffled my eyes, he says as he leans forwards slightly: "Who is to say that he is dead?"

Deimos push off the ground, flying across the rooftop towards me, megachette held above his head for a strike. I dodge to the side, barely enough time for me to escape the deadly sharp blade. Even though I escaped, the lower 5 centimeters of my cloak are shaved off, the thin band of cloth taken up by the dregs of the storm that had passed; the black ribbon flying off into the blood-red sky, taking flight on the wind.

I jump backwards, back peddling as I hit the ground, trying to gain as much distance as possible from the aggressor. I look at my cloak, the cut a clean shear through the fabric. That blade must have been sharpened recently, also combined with the speed that he can run means I can't afford to make a single mistake.

Deimos turns back towards me, wrenching the blade out of the concrete retainer wall that he sliced down through when he missed my body. He says, a slight bit of annoyance in his voice: "How odd. It is amazing that your reactions are that attuned, considering the strain of your grief and the refined sugar that you seem to regularly take in. I am afraid that this will only prolong your death on this building."

I back up another slight distance and I asks seriously: "My grief? What are you talking about?"

Deimos' grin pops back up on his face and he says: "Oh, poor child, things are only going to get tougher for you. But I am not going to spoil it for you; that is for you to find out, my damaged friend."

I aim the MP-40 at Deimos, trying to drown out his words with the sound of gunfire. I have had enough strife in my life, enough to last ten lifetimes. I drain the clip, the last cylinders of brass falling to the wet asphalt as I toss the useless weapon to the side. Deimos remains standing, a fresh smile uncharacteristically stretching the features of his face, the wounds that were inflicted by the German weapon closing up on themselves, dark flames eating away at the wounds, closing them up with a wisp of near non-existent smoke.

Deimos aims his Beretta, saying as he brings the weapon level to his shoulder, dark chaotic flames warping around his body and head, barely visible against the dark backdrop of the sky: "You just don't get it do you? When the Auditor, quote unquote, 'Died' his energy was absorbed into any corpses that he could find. Given that I was one of the few that wasn't absorbed I was a great candidate for him to absorb into."

I back slowly towards the door that leads back down into the building. I say cautiously: "Now, why would you tell me that valuable nugget of information? All I have to do is stall until Hank gets here. From what I hear, he kicked your ass pretty well last time the two of you fought."

Deimos/Auditor's smile fall from his face and he replies: "Well. You make a fair point, but given that you are going to be dead long before his group get here…which I would imagine is five minutes from now…also any man would hesitate to let fire fall upon one of their allies. All I need is that moment to make sure that our conquest goes unopposed until the end of time!"

Deimos/Auditor opens fire, the bullets streaking across the roof top. I turn and sprint to the door, dropping and rolling into the building as the bullets whiz overhead. I get up and I jump to the side, the concrete of the wall protecting my body. The burst of adrenaline fades and I realize with a shock: I had been shot. One bullet lodged in my hip, blood gouging out from my upper thigh, another plug of lead nestled against the bone in my shoulder. I drop the ground, my own weight suddenly too much for me to bear as my life blood trickles out of me ever so persistently.

I lean back against the wall as the Auditor/Deimos continues to fire off rounds, the slight, jarring impacts in the concrete making their way to my back, the wall protecting my body for the moment.

The Auditor chuckles coldly as he toss aside the empty magazine and slides a new one into the Berretta. He says snidely: "You seem surprised that you were shot. I don't know how you came by that power, but I have seen stranger powers in my days, I'll be sure to find out who or what gave you the strength to break free of mortal bounds."

I throw myself forward, aware that he is distracting me. Not a moment or an inch too soon: the dark blade of the megachette punching through the cinderblocks I had taken shelter behind like a bullet through paper. I roll to the side as the blade turns and scythes through the wall, splintering the blocks and tearing out a section of the steel door frame. Deimitor steps through the door and swings down the blade, aiming to cleave my head in half. I thrust my hand forward, charging up the last amount of energy I had in a desperate attempt to save myself.

The Smith &amp; Wesson manifests in my hand, the blade of the gargantuan bush-knife biting deep into the dark metal of the weapon, stopping the blade before it could slice through my hand. Deimos jumps back, wrenching the blade from the weapon, the gun clattering to the ground as it was yanked out of my hand, exploding once more into shadow as it comes to rest.

Deimitor scowls and yells, fury and bile in his voice: "THAT'S HOW YOU DID IT! You are working with the Moderators, those damnable bastards managed to break through the Nexus Field! I will be sure to make them pay!"

Deimitor calms down, seeing that I am immobile, sensing the barely covered up fear underneath my thinly composed features. He reverses his grip on the megachette, holstering his Beretta 92 and taking a two handed grip on the weapon as he prepares to drive it down into my chest. He says seriously: "Tell my good buddy Death, when you meet him that The Auditor knows where he is hiding."

Deimitor plunges the blade down, I try to wiggle backwards, awaiting the biting pain of a blade to appear in my abdomen. But as I look up I see that the blade has stopped, mid strike, a grey boned hand grasping the blade in a grip that cracked the hardened steel of the weapon. The figure raises his other fist and punches The Deimitor back out on to the roof, saying in a gravelly tone as he stalks out after him: "And I can tell you that I am not hiding from anyone."

Deimitor jumps up to his feet, upholstering and blasting away with his Beretta, the bullets striking the dark presence but not slowing his lethal advance. The Deimitor tosses away the Berretta and takes up the megachette in a two handed grip and chops at the cloaked apparition. Out of nowhere a scythe appears in the man's hand, blocking the blade with the haft of the weapon, the megachette snapping two from the force of the block.

The man charges forward and grabs The Deimitor by the throat and slams him to the ground, shadows erupting from the ground as he makes contact with the rooftop. The man in black says: "They call me Death for a reason. I am always watching, listening, and waiting for a soul to take to the other side. I maybe secluded in the shadows, but I am never hiding."

The Deimitor struggles against Death's grip and throws a punch into Death's chest, his fist disappearing into the dark folds of his cloak, emerging out of Death's back. Death slams his scythe into the ground, the blade sinking all the way to the haft. Death stabs his skeletal fingers into Deimitor's chest and says viciously: "Don't you know? You can't touch Death; but Death can touch you!"

Deimitor starts to scream, thrashing violently around as Death's fingers reach deep down into his chest, dark flames fighting against the oppressive shadows of Death. Soon Death's whole hand is plunged down into Deimos's chest. Death seems to root around in the cavity, searching for something. A moment later he grunts to himself: "There you are…"

Deimos' screams start to change, no longer the scream of an immortal figure, a scream wrought not in pain but frustration and anger. Now a scream of a man in great pain; a scream of panic, desperation, and a large tinge of fear. Deimos looks up at death, the whites of his eyes showing as he sees the deathly presence over him.

Deimos' eyes roll back into his head and he falls unconscious, his screams now turning to whimpers and grunts of pain. Death says silently: "I am sorry you have to go through this pain. The pain of having two souls in a body is enough to drive most to insanity or death, but taking out the invading soul is all the more painful. You are lucky to have your mortal soul still intact…"

With one last great effort Death yanks his hand out of Deimos' chest, a small heart of black fire writhing around in his hand. Death pulls his hand back and slings the small ball of fire off the roof, slight wisps of smoke and shadow trailing off of the dark, licking flames. Death wrenches his scythe out of the ground and turns to me and says solemnly: "Poor child. You have known so much heartache and pain, but it will only get worse from here, due to that fault that I created…"

Death walks forward, his scythe tapping the ground with each stride, the dark lacquered wood of the haft marking the rooftop with deep patches of darkness. I scoot backwards, my back running against the handrail at the edge of the steps, fear emblazoned in my eyes. Death kneels down in front of me and places his scythe in my hands, the dark energy of the weapon sapping my strength and my consciousness. Death says in a serious tone of voice: "Don't worry, I am not here to harm you. Just to pass on a message: DO NOT trust the Mortal Angel."

Death stands up, his joints and bones creaking and popping as he rises to his full height of roughly two meters. I try to stand up, offering the scythe back to the god, despite its deceivingly great weight. Death shakes his head and puts his hand back on the halt of the scythe and pushes the weapon and me back to the ground, saying: "That is yours to keep. You are chosen, don't you see? Don't fail us and you will be rewarded with your memories of old, and ever then some."

Death retrieves his bony palm from the weapon, a dark ring of black onyx fasten around his middle finger. He places his hand on my forehead, the ring leeching a feeling of nothingness and pain directly into my soul. "Now you must sleep, soon you will train. You are the one mortal that we can directly depend on. Soon you will have the power you craved…Soon you shall have your due."

Death continues talking, his voice a monotone, yet somehow soothing to hear. But the sapping strength of the scythe and the power that the deity held soon warps my mind into an unwilling sleep, my consciousness once again drifting into oblivion and darkness.

* * *

I jump up from my bed, gasping as a small amount of panic breaks though my normally calm exterior. A man at the side of my bed jumps back, surprised at my sudden movement. He near instantly recovers from his minor shock and firmly pushes me back down into the bed, telling me calmly: "It's okay. You are safe now. You are back at The Theater, in the medical ward. You have lost a lot of blood, you need to rest for now. You should feel better when you wake up next."

I try to strain up against the doctors push, but the moment I tried to put any effort into the action all my strength and will drained from me. I finally start to take in a few things around the room: I am lying in a blinding stark white room, about seven or eight other beds situated around the space. An IV stand seems to tower above me, a bag of blood suspended in its clasps. I look down at my arm, the plastic coil from the IV embedded in my wrist. I start to lay back down, a gentle but firm amount of pressure put on my chest by the doctor.

Finally I let the doctors hands push me down, the softness of the crisp white sheets and pillow making me aware of how tired I really was. The doctor continues: "Hank will want to talk to you when you wake up next. And don't worry about your weapons: they are safe and secure in your room."

The doctor finishes his statement, but before the last few syllables could leave his mouth my mind was too absent to hear them.

* * *

I awoke again, this time patiently shaking my senses awake before I start to move. I sit up in the bed, a medical gown with an odd floral pattern hanging down from my frame. I swing my legs to the side of the bed, my feet tingling as they touch the pleasantly cool, concrete floor. I look at the IV in my arm, noticing that the blood bag had been replaced with a glucose drip. I gently take the needle out of my arm, a small dot of blood following after the sharp hypodermic. I let the IV tube drop, the conduit dropping down and hanging from the bag. I reach up and scratch my chin, surprised that a small growth of stubble was there.

I stand up, unsteady for the first moment, but stable in the next. I take a step, wanting to get out of the gown, the thin material somehow making me feel vulnerable to the clean air. But as my foot makes contact with the ground next, my legs collapse out from underneath me, the sensation of falling causes me a small amount of panic. My hand darts out on instinct and grabs the frame of the bed next to mine and I stop my fall before I hit the ground. I sit down on the floor, pain flaring around my recently closed and more recently opened wound on my hip.

I gasp as I hoist myself back into my bed, a fresh red stain soaking into the white bandages wrapped around my arm and my hip. I hear footsteps from the other side of the room and I look up to see the doctor walking towards me. He glances at the fresh blood soaked in my bandages and he says: "You really should rest more. You aren't in danger of bleeding out, but I would suggest that you should rest."

I shake my head: "If my enemies don't rest, then neither should I."

The doctor sighs: "You have the same mentality as everyone else that has wound up in this place."

The doctor pauses for a moment and says in a slightly agitated tone: "Fine. I will help you to the other room where all of your personal effects are."

I nod to him and I say gratefully: "Thank you. But I have to honest with you, the biggest reason I want to get out of here is to get out of this damned hospital gown."

The Doctor chuckles slightly and says in a light tone: "That is also another thing that most people that wind up in here say. Sorry we don't have anything standard, we used most of the gowns from the hospital that we raided for bandages…during the raid…"

I shrug my shoulders and I stand up, this time more careful in my movements. "It must have been a tough fight. A hospital seems like a great place for bandits to make an outpost."

The doctor steps to my side and puts my arm over his shoulders, supporting my weight. He starts walking me towards a door at the opposite end of the room, the effort of moving slightly winding me."Surprisingly there were no bandits there, most of who we fought were MERC's. Apparently they were scavenging for the same supplies that we were planning to loot for ourselves."

I nod, sweat beading on my forehead, my breath coming up short somehow. I say to the doctor as we reach the door: "By the way. How long have I been out? I feel like I haven't moved in a week."

The doctor presses a button on the door frame and the door pops open with a metallic click. He says as we move through the door: "You have been asleep for about 4 days, 13 hours and roughly 4 minutes. You woke up about an hour or so after Hank brought you here in that panic that you had."

He laughs slightly as we move further down the hallway. He continues: "I must say, you gave me quite a startle with that. But I guess in the condition that Hank found the two of you in; that little incident should be expected."

I nod and we walk a few more meters in silence, our short journey ending at the end of the hallway, a small door set into the concrete. The doctor gestures to a blank spot on the door and says in a half serious manner: "Don't worry, your name will be put on your corner office before you know it, Director Max Shockley."

I laugh slightly: "Thank you…uh…what's your name, Doc?"

The doctor pushes open the door to the room, the two of us stepping inside: "My name is Robert Ubist. But most people around here call me Doctor Rob."

I smile weakly, as I limp further into the room, using the wall as a support: "Ah, well, thank you Robert. I'll be sure to swing by sometime later, hopefully without the bullet holes."

Robert adjusts his spectacles and says: "I will look forward to it. It would be nice to have some company that isn't bleeding all over the place for once."

Dr. Ubist turns and starts to walk back down the hall, his crisp lab coat billowing out from behind him. He pauses and turns back: "Oh and one more thing: Deimos is awake. I am sure that you would like to have a word with him. I think he is up in theater B1. That is our makeshift cafeteria of sorts. He left here saying that he wanted a 'pack of smokes' and 'some food' before he talked to Hank."

"Thanks Doc," I reply, "I'll be sure to head up there once I have changed into something different, I'll bring back the gown before I go up there."

Robert waves me off: "That'll be fine, just toss it in the laundry bin, it's right to the side of the room, right as you walk through the door."

I close the door to my room, now taking a better look on what my new home is like. The room isn't that large, it might have been some sort of storage space once before. Overhead there is a singular light bulb, hanging from a wire, the light it radiates making my eyes squint. That bulb is just too bright to me. The walls are barren, except for roughly a dozen AAHW propaganda posters pasted on the wall opposite of me, hung up over an old mattress resting on the floor.

I chuckle to myself, I guess I should have anticipated some resentment. It was only to expected, being that I was an Agent before I dissented. If my fellow dissenters felt the need to trouble themselves to get at me in this way, then they mustn't have been in the Agency very long, Most of them were probably grunts that could have been selected to become Agents.

I chuckle more, the deep sound from my throat growing louder and increasing in mirth. I don't know why I find it so funny…In the Agency I was treated with indifference, maybe a slight amount of resentment passed about here and there in my earlier weeks of service. My laughter quiets down and I start to peel off the crinkled and warped papers: "Well, at least it is good to see some sense of individuality again."

I take down the posters and I tuck them underneath the mattress, wincing in pain, the movement causing my leg to throb. There…maybe I can set them on fire later…have a bit a personal party at my own accomplishment of leaving The Agency.

I turn away from the posters, looking at the room with a greater eye of detail. The floor of the room is concrete, just as the walls and the ceiling are. The only difference is that there are a few throw rugs placed here and there, making the old storage space feel more like a place that a man can live in. Snugged up against the wall to the left of the bed there are a few crates, two of them made of heavy wooden planks, the other, larger one an old cardboard box, large strips of masking tape keeping the corners of the box from splitting open.

In the corner of the room, to the right of the mattress Death's…no…My scythe sits, propped up, casting a shadow further into the dark crook that makes up the home of the weapon. I walk over to the scythe, a dark, yet familiar energy radiating off of the haft and the blade. The dark wooden studs that make up the handles stick out of the haft, much like a grain scythe. But this is a weapon, the blade sharper, the weights keenly balanced to make it a reaper of man, not wheat.

I reach out and I rest my hands on the handles of the weapon, the energy seeming to part away from my touch, yet at the same time reaching out to bond with my hand at the same time. I take up the weapon, the weight of the weapon feeling like it might rip my fingers off. I grunt as I try to heft the weapon back into its place, yet more sweat beading on my brow, my breath coming up short yet again. I frown as I carefully place it back, why is it so heavy? Maybe I'm just not strong enough yet.

I turn away from the scythe, wanting to rummage through the contents of the crates. I pause, maybe it isn't me…maybe the scythe itself is too strong for me to wield. I reach up and I grab hold of the blade, the energy of the weapon seeming to want to sap away as much of my energy as possible. I undo the clasp at the top of the haft, the blade popping away from its housing. I gingerly take the blade back over to the mattress, limping heavily every step of the way. I slide the blade underneath the deflated pad, just as I did with the propaganda posters.

I limp back to the now headless scythe, taking up the haft once I reach it. This time it is much lighter, but it still feels a bit too heavy and clumsy for me to use it for anything more than a walking staff. I walk back across the room towards the crates, leaning my bad side on the scythe, the distance I close without any problems or wheezing breath.

I open up the cardboard box and I find a sheet of paper, thick pencil marks scrawled on the white sheet. It read: "We managed to find you some suits, I am just assuming that you would like to stick with something familiar. If you find any sort of clothes that you would rather have we can use these for bandages. -Hank"

I chuckle: "I guess this means I gained his trust then."

I flip over the paper and I see he left an additional message: "P.S. we were going to use these as extra bandages anyways, so don't worry about tearing them up or whatever...we really don't care what happens to these."

I look further down the page, another post note added: "P.P.S. I hope you don't mind the bloodstains on some of them, it is kinda hard to keep these suits spotless when the people that are wearing them are also shooting at you."

I laugh lightly and I say to the paper as I slide it next to the propaganda posters: "That is a bad habit of theirs, hopefully I can help you guys stop it."

I sift through the box, picking out a suit that has a few minor blood stains, but they are almost unnoticeable in contrast to the dark fabric of the suit jacket. Soon I am back in my suit, the feeling of the layers of clothing finally making me feel a bit more comfortable…there is just two things missing. My cloak and shades. It must have been soaked with blood when they found me. Ah well, I can make a new one out of some sheets of fabric when I get a chance.

I look around the room…My shades should be around here somewhere. I look down at the mattress, the dark lenses of the shades resting on a small pillow at the head of the sleeping space. I reach down, popping open the arms of the shades as I pick them up. I slide the shades over my eyes, the room now back to a comfortable level of darkness. I turn to the door, gown in hand, and ready to be returned it to Dr. Ubist.

* * *

I walk out of the room, the scythe haft tapping the ground in time with my right foot, keeping most of my weight off of my hip. I make it down to the Medical Ward, Doctor Robert leaning over another patient that seems to have some sort of head injury. I walk quietly into the room, not wanting to disturb my new friend, pacing towards a bin that has the word "Laundry" spray painted on the side of it.

Robert turns around, grabbing for a penlight that is on his desk. He glances up and sees me, jumps in front of his patient, a 44. Magnum in his hand, barrel pointed at my forehead. He draws back the hammer, but with worry in the whites of his eyes, more worried about his patient than his own life.

I hold my hands up above my head, the scythe haft hanging loosely from my right hand. I guess this is to be expected as well, being that I look so much like an Agent. Robert's eyes narrow as he recognizes me, a sigh of relief passing through his lips. I place the gown in the bin: "Sorry about that, I should have said something."

Dr. Ubist hurriedly places the revolver back into his coat pocket: "Oh no, it's okay…it's just I am a bit jumpy around some things. I just need to get used to seeing a suit around here, that's all."

Roberts gaze wanders over to the scythe haft in my hand and he says with interest: "Wow, I can't believe that you are able to pick up that thing. It took Hank 30 minutes just to lug it all the way back here."

I shrug and reply with a slight grin: "Yeah, well taking the blade off makes it much lighter."

A moment of strained and awkward silence passes, broken only by a slight groan from the patient. I turn and I shamble out of the door saying: "Well I am going to head to Theater B1. I want to have a word with Deimos before I talk to Hank again."

Robert nods and waves me off saying: "Alright. Well stop by anytime. I'll try not to pull a gun on you the next time."

* * *

Soon I am in Theater B1, the seats of the area ripped out, the majority of them moved out of the room to make space for the multitude of long tables that now inhabit the room. Roughly 27 people are milling around the area, sitting down, eating with friends or getting food from a table at the very front of the room, many steaming pots and pans holding various food items.

As I enter the theater the whole room goes quiet, reminding me of when a movie would start in the theater, the crowd waiting to see what they paid to see. The only difference is that instead of expectation of seeing a good show, there is apprehension and prickling stares at the occurrence of me walking into the room.

Luckily, a split second after the silent anger a voice shouts across the room from a table, empty except for one man: "YO! MAX! Sit over here! I got a plate for ya!"

I cast my eyes over to the voice, half relieved, half surprised to see that it was Deimos that called out to me. I start across the room, the others getting out of my way, making sure that their weapons are close at hand. Halfway there, my stomach starts to growl, the fresh smell of cooked food starting to get the better of me and my nose. I increase my pace, the clacking of the scythe haft picking up, matching the falls of my right foot. I reach the table, Deimos sitting across from an empty seat with a plate of set at it.

I sit across from Deimos, the plate in front of me, the hostile stares now behind me and hopefully diminishing. On the plate is a standard affair of what used to be 'Lunch' before the world ended: A ham sandwich, a package of chips, a small apple and to the side a bottle of NevadatineKM water. I look up at Deimos, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He points at the plate and says: "You can go ahead and eat, then we can talk. I am sure you are hungry. I know I was, being asleep for four days and all that."

I nod, but instead of giving him any words I start to eat the small bounty before me, finishing the meal in roughly a minute or two. I uncap the bottle of water, draining the fluid inside, and I turn to Deimos: "So, what's with the cheery expression?"

Deimos shrugs his shoulders: "Ah, they will warm up to you. It isn't like we see a suit in here every day you know. Besides, I know I can trust you."

I lift up one of my eyebrows: "Why's that? We were about to kill each other not 5 days ago."

Deimos laughs: "Well that's true, but you were also the one that freed me from being The Auditors puppet. That is how I know I can trust you, because I think that few others would do it, let alone be able to do so."

I am quiet for a few moments: 'So that is what he saw, not Death, but me. I guess that is how they cover their tracks…' I thought to myself 'I should talk to Grim sometime soon, he needs to explain a few things to me.'

I say to Deimos: "Well, I would rather not have killed someone who was allies with Hank. And besides, our mutual enemy is The Auditor, obliterating any sort of his presence is a good thing for us."

Deimos nods, he leans in his seat and takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offers one to me. I wave the pack away: "Sorry, I don't smoke."

Deimos bursts out in laughter, saying once he calms down: "Heh, Wow. You are a rare thing, an AAHW Agent that doesn't smoke! HA, well I guess weirder things have happened, right?"

I smile, genuinely for the first time in a long time. I say: "Yeah, I guess so. Weirder is bound to happen in a world like this."

Deimos nods, lifting his thumb up to the end of the cigarette. I reach into my jacket, trying to grab a Zippo lighter out of my breast pocket to give him a light. I let my hand drop in surprise as his thumb flairs up in flame, sparking the end of the cigarette into a steady burning ember.

I look at his hand, the skin unblemished by the flame. I say to Deimos: "That is an interesting power you have there…how did you come about that?"

Deimos shrugs his shoulder: "I have no idea…basically since I started smoking, I guess. Anyways, I think that your power is a lot more useful than mine at any rate."

"Well, I still have a lot of training that I have to do." I say, trying to turn the attention away from my power, "As I am now I couldn't do very much against one of the Nexus powerhouses."

Deimos nods solemnly: "Yeah…we are all worried about another Tricky appearing. Lord knows it is only a matter of time until that amount of insanity grips another man."

I nod in return and the two of us fall silent. I look up at yet another man that I can call my friend, I smile to myself…I guess leaving The Agency is the best decision that I have made in my entire life. I look to the other side of the room, a clock hanging up on the wall. I turn back to Deimos and I say: "Well I have to go talk to Hank. I have more to do before the day is out."

Deimos stands up from his seat: "Yeah, same here. Some big things are going to be going down over the next week, I am sure of it."

Deimos is quite for a moment and continues: "Gosh…it's been a year since I've seen Hank or Sanford. I wonder if they have changed any…"

The two of us walk out of the theater, death stares thrown at my back, looks of awe and amazement cast at Deimos. I say to Deimos as the doors close behind us: "Hank has changed a lot, but I think you know that. After all, you were the one that Magnified him."

Deimos shoots a glance at me as we start walking down the hall. He says in a suspicious tone: "How do you know about that?"

I hold up my hands in my own defense: "Come on, that whole event happened a year ago. Everyone in Nevada knows about it by now. You are both respected and feared for it, I can tell you that much!"

Deimos nods the whites of his eyes showing: "Sorry…it's just that that whole operation just spooks me now…I did die after all…"

I sigh and I say: "Sorry man…I shouldn't have mentioned that. I should remember that I am not the only one that has a past."

Deimos, in an instant, changes his mood, laughing: "Don't worry about it. All that matters is the present and what we can do with the future. To hell with the past!"

I nod, but in the back of my mind I think: 'I just wish that I could remember my past…'

Soon we reach a stairwell that leads up to a projector room, the same room where I met with Hank nearly five days ago. We climb up the steps, the sound of passive conversation drifting down from the room above. The two of us reach the door at the top of the steps, a slight glance passing between me and Deimos before I open the door.

We enter the room, Hank seated at the table, Sanford propped up against the opposite wall. Hank glances over at us: "Ah, you guys are awake finally." He gestures at the seats across the table from himself and continues: "Take a seat; we have a lot to discuss."

Sanford points at Deimos, an exasperated expression on his face: "Come on dude, not two hours after waking up and you are already smoking one?"

Deimos smirks at Sanford as he stubs out the cigarette against the metal table as he sat down. He replied: "Hey, cut me a break, I haven't had a smoke in a year! I am practically nicotine free at this point…or…was."

Sanford's eye twitches in annoyance as Deimos laughs at what he had just said. I turn to Hank: "So, what is this meeting about?"

Hank turns his attention away from the squabbling pair and clears his throat: "Now that we are sure that we can trust in you we have decided to take a step forwards. We need to make a decisive strike against the AAHW. Up until this point we have been hiding away, gathering resources, just a ghost in the back of The Agency's mind."

I lean forward in my chair, my interest obvious : "So what is your plan and how can I be of assistance?"

Hank smiles slightly: "We are going to mount an assault on the closest AAHW facility, the base you came from: Compound Zeta. First of all, I need to know if there is anyone that you care about in that facility. I would hate for my men to kill anyone that you have feelings for."

I think for a moment: "No. I was an outcast there, just as I have been anywhere else. You could wipe out the whole base and nay I would not shed a single tear."

Hank pauses for a moment: "…You know…You can be…Spooky sometimes, you know that, right?"

I shrug my shoulders: "I am just speaking my mind."

Hank shakes away the thought, continuing: "Secondly: We need some information on the whole base."

Sanford jumps into the conversation: "Things like how many men are stationed there, the ranks of them, where they would be stationed, what munitions that they have, stuff like that."

I nod to Sanford, collecting my thoughts. After a moment I say: "There are roughly one hundred and seventy-five men stationed there. Most of them are Upgraded Agents, but there are quite a few Soldats, Engineers, and GOL3Ms. But what you have to worry most about is the 20 MERCs that are on top of the buildings. They are all armed with long ranged rifles with ballistic tipped rounds. They are the first and greatest defense for The Compound."

Hank, Sanford and Deimos exchange a quick glance. Deimos turns to me: "Then that is our biggest problem. Any electronic countermeasures I can deal with; most of the codes for gates and such haven't been changed since I was part of The Agency. Any others I can possibly hack through."

I nod, filing away that little nugget of information: "Our compound is pretty low-grade in terms of Tech. We have a few gates protecting the Comms building and the armory, but beyond that there are just cameras and guards everywhere."

Hank scratches his chin, musing: "Then our only real problem is the snipers. How are we going to get past them? Sure, we are a pretty disciplined and skilled force, but no cover between the ruins and the compound levels that playing field."

The four of us are silent for a moment, all of us trying to come up with a plan on how to overcome the problem of a sniper's 'all seeing eye.' I sigh: "Well there is one option: I can simply walk through the front door. Given that it has been a while they will most likely shoot at me. But if we give them a sort of show on my arrival…say a dozen Zeds chasing me or something…they are going to wonder what happened to me. They are going to shoot the Zeds first and then ask me questions afterwards."

Deimos frowns slightly: "Why would that work?"

I lean back in my seat, letting a plan come together in my head. I say: "First looks on a situation dictates how it will follow through and end. If these MERCs see me chased by the undead, after being out of the compound for five days along the fact that the raid party did not return and a few other details on my own being, they will assume that my walk into the city went awry. The Soldat party could have been destroyed by these same Zeds. Also judging by how they did not send another raiding party, I would assume that they did not tell anyone about why they went into the city or what my whereabouts were."

I lean back in my chair, continuing: "By keeping up this ruse as I run into the compound I can get inside of their field of vision. From there I can start wreaking havoc, giving you guys a window to enter the compound. I will attack the Comms station first, protocol dictates that, if any infiltrator were to make it to the Comms center, the station be locked down, both inside and out. The MERCs will train their scopes on that building, looking for a way to pick me off if I were to come into view at any time."

Sanford nods, but says: "Even if you get past the MERCs the first time, it seems that you are putting a whole bunch of risk on yourself just be stepping into the Compound Zeta. We could figure something else out, but you strolling in there just to give us a foothold by slaughtering yourself isn't going to help us. IF we do manage to get into through the window you would open up we would still be vastly outnumbered."

The four of us slip back into quiet self-debate. Hank shakes his head, deciding to end the discussion at that: "At any rate, I think we are safe from any attacks from The Agency. We can work on a more concrete plan over the next few weeks."

I shrug my shoulders: "Eh, I am fine with that. I need to heal up in the meantime."

Hank gets up, walking towards the door. As he rests his gargantuan hand on the doorknob he turns back to m: "Ah, concerning your healing."

Hank points at my headless scythe with his un-mutated hand: "You be careful with that weapon. When I picked it up I felt an energy. A dark and malevolent energy, much like when I grabbed The Auditor's Halo." Hank unconsciously grasps back at his mutated arm and continues: "Those items hold ungodly power, don't let it overcome you."

Hank opens the door and squeezes through the door frame that is just barely too small for him, Sanford and Deimos following after him. Deimos waves over his shoulder and says in a joking tone: "Hey if you feel like braving the death stares I'll be in B1 for dinner. You seem like a cool guy to hang out with." Deimos points a thumb over his shoulder at Sanford and says: "Unlike this buzzkill over here!"

Sanford turns around and says to Deimos: "Hey, all of us can't have a grand ol' party every second of the day like you can. Some of us get tired sometimes."

Deimos looks over his shoulder and says: "And that makes me all the more fun to be around, doesn't it?"

Hank grumbles from the bottom the steps: "It is going to make it hard to sleep around here now, considering his bloodstream is coffee and cigarette tar."

Deimos saunters down the stairs saying: "Fine, I'll try to keep it down. It is going to be hard having roommates now that I am back!"

The three of them finally reach the bottom steps, their voices fading as they walk down the hallway below. I chuckle to myself, looking at the dark wood of the scythe haft. 'Don't worry Hank, this weapon will never get the better of me. In fact, I think that it shall be the key to the destruction of The Agency.'

* * *

I eventually found my way up to the roof, the directions given to me by a guy that was nearly scared shitless by me talking to him. I guess he had a bad experience with Agents at one point or another…or maybe he knows of the ethereal forces I am allied with somehow.

At any rate, finding the steps up to the roof was easy enough, the climb to the top stretching out the muscles in my legs, the cramps finally letting up as I reach the top of the steps. I push open the door, bright red light washing in from the opening. I step outside, the roof of the Theater barren, save for a few pipes, A/C ducts and ventilation units. I close the door behind me, glad to be outside for once.

I look to my right and I see a covered shelter at the edge of the roof. I guess they used to post a guard up here. No point now; no one is looking for them, The Agency thinks that they are dead.

I walk underneath the shade of the shelter, plopping myself in a chair that is set up against the retaining wall. I lean back in the chair, balancing on the back two legs of the chair, my back resting against the wall. I reach into my jacket and I pluck out my Zippo, looking at the neat, plain black finish on the lighter.

I flip it over in my hands, a symbol painted in red on the bottom half of the lighter, made with what I assume were very careful and delicate brush strokes. The symbol looks like the Russian sickle and hammer, the only difference is that in place of the hammer there is a scythe. Around the symbol is a red wreath, painted in the same color and manner.

I frown to myself as I start flicking the lighter open and closed, the clicking and clacking of the lighter a soothing sound to me. I can remember buying the lighter at that hardware store in my hometown, but when I bought it, it was simply a plain black color, front and back…I wish I could remember who painted the symbol. I flick my thumb across the striker, a flame flashing to life, dancing across the charred wick of the lighter.

I stand up, flicking the lighter closed with a clack, extinguishing the flame. I call out to the air: "Come on out Grim. We need to talk with each other."

A few seconds pass, the sound of the wind swirling through the city the only noise to be heard. I slam the butt of the scythe haft into the ground, cracking the concrete. I shout: "I don't have time for this! There are some things that you have kept hidden from me and I would like to know what the hell they are!"

The air shifts in front of me, like a heat haze. Grim steps from the illusion, immediately saying: "If this is because you met my boss I can tell you with one hundred percent honesty that it wasn't me that put the souls of the damned in his underpants."

I pause in confusion: "Wh-What?"

Grim's eyes go wide and covers up his opening statement: "Oh…uh…never mind that. You called?"

I scowl at the apparition, no fear at the Reaper that stood before me. "You need to be straight with me. I have done everything in my power to stay on the path that you have set for me. Now I need something of a return."

Grim says without the slightest change of expression: "I have no idea what you are talking about. I have been completely honest with you since you sold your soul to me."

"Bullshit!" I say with the utmost contempt.

Grim holds up his hands, a sly smile spreading across his skeletal face: "Now, now. No point in spitting venom in your words."

I shake my head, pointing at Grim: "Don't turn this around on me."

I pause, thinking back to the fight I had with The Auditor, continuing a moment later: "When Deimos was possessed…he said something. He called me 'an acolyte of the moderators'. Then he went on to call Death out. What did he mean by calling you a 'moderator?'

Grim shrugs, playing dumb yet again: "I have no idea what you are talking about. I have told you everything that you wanted to know."

I am silent for a few moments.

'It's time for bribery'

"A quarter..." I say

Grim squints at me, suspicion in his eyes: "A quarter of what?"

"I'm playing the pronoun game for a reason" I said: "A quarter of my soul for information that you have withheld from me. I don't care how many years I have to work it off in the next world, I just what to know what you know."

Grim glances at me, intrest playing in his dark eyes: "You know what that means. You only have half of a soul left. I am sure that you have felt the side effects over the years. Food tastes like nothingness to you, whenever you try to feel any emotion at all, it feels as if you are only half feeling it. You have felt lopsided, hobbled. If you give me a quarter of your soul, the ability for you to continue in your research or to train in your skill will be severely limited. You need a soul, whether you deem it important or not."

I scowl further: "I don't care. Just tell me what I have to know. It is the only way I will continue down your path."

Grim smiles, the sound of his jaw popping at the effort of the motion extremely audible: "Fine. But I can guarantee that you will never reap enough souls to pay off your contract. Spending over Fifteen thousand years under servitude will drive most whole souls to destruction."

I say to grim: "I already said I don't care. I have to know what I am facing."

Grim smiles, letting go of his scythe, the weapon balancing on the ground, held in place by an invisible hand. Grim steps forward and drives his hand into my chest, the dreaded sense of nothingness overwhelming my body. It takes all my will to remain standing as the Deathly Deity tears apart my remaining piece of soul.

Eventually he withdraws his hand, a spiteful fire warping around his skeletal hand. I begin to fall, the feeling of nothingness receding, leaving in its place weakness, but I catch myself before my legs could give out from under me.

He takes the small ball of flame and places it inside of his cloak, remarking: "I always enjoy seeing the color of your soul. A nice grey color…Nope, not too many souls floating around like this now-a-days and I have three quarters of one now."

Grim laughs further, happy to of collected on yet another deal. I gasp out in pain: "Now. Tell me what I paid to know."

Grim sighs, for some reason, uncertain with continuing despite the fiery patch of my soul now in his possession: "The other higher powers in the world call us 'moderators' for two reasons. The first reason is because we are the ones that keep the power in check…well more like, in balance. This is why atrocities exist, Death exists so that there is a balance of hope and fear. It is what drives humans to make more of their seemingly insignificant time on earth. War, Famine and Pestilence are all real as well, doing their parts to make sure that the world says balanced."

I gesture over the city: "Well you have seemed to do a great job about that. The whole world is like this and coming back to what we once were is going to be impossible now that The Agency has a handle on the Nexus Core."

Grim nods, his mood a direct match to his name. "What is the second thing?"

Grim sighs and points upwards, the sky like an inverted pool of blood, saying meekly: "We are the cause of this disorder…"

I take a half pace backwards, the back of my legs bumping into the chair. I am silent as he continues: "The world was so close falling apart so long ago but we managed to stop it, mankind thinking a curse had befallen them. But nearly 30 years ago we saw the signs of it happening again. Humanity was reaching a point of peace and prosperity, mankind was deteriorating with an imbalance of following their temporary pleasures rather than reaching for a dream that they could hold forever. Your kind lost their humanity."

I sit down, the shock of the matter making my knees weak: 'I am part of this now…I am allied with the beings that destroyed this world. No worse than that: I've traded away my soul to these beings…for what? Power? Feh... No wonder he told me to beware of the other Higher Powers.'

I ask Grim, struggling to reign in my anger, betrayal eating away at my mind: "But how did you do it? What did you do to turn this world into this festering mass of abominable chaos?"

Grim rests his back against one of the support beams holding up the shelter, shadow cast over his body as he steps underneath the overhang. He grudgingly says: "We had to set things straight, we needed to start creating new atrocities for humanity to cope with so that they could get back on track, perusing their destiny. But we couldn't do it by our own hands just like so long ago, we couldn't reveal ourselves to world view. The mass panic of our presence alone would cause millions upon millions to rise up in riot and fear…mostly due to religious reasons that simply say that we cannot exist. Those fools…we are the eldest of the Old Gods, we were strolling among man since they crawled out of their caves and saw that trees bore fruit."

Grim looks over the city: "But that is besides the point. WE had to do something to prevent humanity from spiraling into mindless pursuit of abominable pleasures to satisfy their selfish desires. We decided to create a machine, much like the Gods that created us for this purpose, to stem humanities pleasure. This machine would envelop the world in a field where we could, eh, tweak reality to slowly turn humanity back on course."

Grim grabs his scythe back from the air and makes a wide sweeping arc with the weapon as he steps back out into the red light of the sky: "A small little war in the middle east? Sure."

Grim takes another step, seeming to gesture at some sick grand vision: "Build protest against superficial natures of someone different of yourself? Why not?"

Grim turns back to me, an odd light glinting in his eyes: "Everything in the world that has seemed to go amiss was due to us. We did it so that humanity could have a chance in their coming years. Sure we did many terrible things to people, but we also built up some of the greatest advancements in history. We helped put a man on the moon, drive numerous satellites deep into outer-space! Sure they may not have needed the help, but a little push never hurts. We established technologies that advance humanity's progression towards his ultimate goal: The stars!"

Grim's shoulders sag as he finishes the statement: "But it was all a fault. The Improbability Drive was an idea thought up and used by a particular god that we thought could handle the mortal task: The Auditor. For those first twenty-five years he remained loyal to us and made changes to the drive as we thought necessary. But over the past five years he started to become impulsive, causing various killings to occur around the world. At first we thought he was just enthusiastic about his job and we let him off with a warning."

Grim staggers back underneath the shelter, as if he was coming out of a delusion. He plops himself down on the ground, his scythe clattering to the side, all care for the weapon tossed alongside it. He continues in a tone that I never expected to hear from a demi-god. The tone could be described as…pitiful:

"But we shouldn't have. Overnight The Auditor shut us out, making a prison for all of reality and all we could do for the longest time was watch as humanity was thrust into a chaos that completely imbalanced the order that we were hoping to counter. The Auditor hates humans, because they have chaos in their souls, where as he is a deity of Order, contrary to the form he takes. He wants all humans to fall under his order and if that doesn't work he seeks to destroy all of mankind…and when that happens, we too shall cease to exist. Death doesn't exist to a race of dead men."

Grim leans back against the retaining wall, a sigh passing though his withered lips: "We managed to break though the Nexus field, but it was too late to stop the Auditor. He warped reality to the point that we cannot step foot inside of the Nexus Core Facility without our essence being scattered from the improbability vectors surrounding the Core. The Auditor is responsible for pushing the world to the deep end…but we are responsible for even taking a step towards deeper waters."

I sit in shock, the tale that this emissary of death had told me shattering my concept of the world I live in. I sit up in my seat, trying to think of something to say, something to ask, something that I could do to move away from the calamity that I had just heard. But Grim breaks the uneasy silence, woe in his voice: "There is one thing I have to tell you: something that concerns the fate of your deceased friends."

I clear my throat, my voice catching even after all my effort trying to prevent it from happening: "G-Go ahead…"

Grim stands up, his weight supported by his scythe. He places his hand on my shoulder, his touch cold, yet the warmth of the gesture spoke volumes of his inner care for me. He says sadly: "Your friends are still alive…trapped…possessed by The Auditor. They all contain a small portion of his Essence. They know of you know, and they want your blood spilt. I know it is a lot for you to behold…but your friends are no more…you are going to have to kill them. Death will not provide you another favor. As far as he is concerned now the world is riding on you and you alone with no help from him or us."

I fall back in my chair: 'My friends…my…they died…in front of me. How could they want to kill me?'

I manage to speak though the pain: "How could they be possessed? Their bodies disappeared along with the Demented."

Grim shakes his head slowly, parts of his body flecking off into shadow, his time in reality spent, his job calling him back so that the souls of the next world stay put. He says as he starts to disappear: "I don't know…nothing is certain in this world…not even to me."

He disappears, nothing of him left behind besides the news that he gave me. I fall out of the chair. Tears rolling down from my eyes: 'This can't be happening…This can't be happening…yet it has already happened.'

I get up grabbing the chair by its back and slamming it into the support columns of the shelter, the chair jarring and splintering on impact. I continue my fury, tears streaming down my face, animalistic screams whipping out of my mouth as I tear down the support post. I turn to the next post swinging the chair yet again, but as soon as it makes contact the chair breaks into pieces.

I toss away the shattered backboard and I start smashing my fists into the column. Soon the beam falls, my knuckles bloody, pain flaring through and up my arms. But my anger is too strong, I grab hold of the plywood roof and I start pulling down the whole structure, the other support beams cracking and then snapping in half as the whole shelter collapses. I turn away from the ruin and wreckage, my hands pressed up to my temples, moans and gasping cries coming from my throat.

* * *

Roughly 3 hours later Doctor Ubist came up to the roof and found me, battered, unresponsive and curled up next to an air conditioning unit. He treated my wounds, retrieved my headless scythe and gave me a tranquilizer that sent me into a deep and dark sleep.

* * *

'…Why isn't there anyone left...Anyone that I can love? Anyone to hope for me and for me to hope for? I guess once my purpose is served I will find that someone…but only after death and an eternity of servitude…I can't make it…it would be better to off myself now and just get to working my soul away…but I won't do that. I can't abandon this world if there could be something I could do for it. But the hopelessness makes it hard.'

'I wonder who this mortal Angel is…maybe it will have some answers…I guess I will wait until then, if whoever it is even exists.'

'I just have to forget now. I just have to kill. Only then do I forget my pain. Only then do I feel whole. Only then do I feel purpose in this world. Only then…only then…only…only for a moment.'

* * *

After the darkness and despair I had a dream. In it there was someone I loved, someone that I dream about often. She is standing far away, on a plain of endless nothingness, her back turned to me. I run towards her, wanting to have her in my arms if only for one moment. But no matter how much I run or how hard I push myself I can never get close enough to her, just like every other time I've run after her. I fall to the ground, tears welling up again. IT'S NOT FAIR! I pound my fist into the ground: 'Why can't I have someone to love, even if it is just in a dream!'

As I am about to turn back again and walk away she says something. I turn back around, surprised to see that she is turn towards me for once. I squint to see her face, but the distance that separates us tells me nothing of what she looks like.

Her words drift from the vast distance, crisp and clear as if they were said at my side: "Don't worry. We will meet sometime soon. Just hold on for a little longer, soon we will be together and fighting won't be as hard as it has been."

I smile, laughter spouting from my throat, tears of joy rolling down my face. She says one more thing as she fades into the distance: "Just remember one thing: I love you. Nothing can change that. Just hold on a little longer, I will be there...someday soon."

I wake up, the mattress lumpy and old, yet oddly comfortable. I smile to myself: 'Of course. I'm not alone. I can still have hope...that is all that is needed.'

* * *

**Author's Note:** Special thanks to forum member and friend S070 for coming up with the name a personality for Dr. Robert Ubist. This guy has often brought a smile to my face in the darkest of times with his bee jokes and his general good humor. Thank you so very much S070.

I would also like to thank Alias-Maxima yet again for editing this piece just like the ones before. Thank you for being so reliable and also a good friend Maxima-Comrade.

Another great Thank You to anybody who reads this train wreck of a story. Please write a review, it would be great to see where I did well and where I failed.


	11. Epilogue: Thank You Guys!

A Final Thanks To:

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S070: For showing support and contributing to the story. For his multiple bee jokes and puns that brightened my mood in the darkest of times. Also for Favoriting, following, and reviewing on June 6th

[His review]: I love the story Max, it's truly captivating.

Now let's go with the constructive criticism, since apparently a good rebeew can't bee just a well deserbeed praise.

That talk with grim was just... wow. You got some really emotional stuff working there. Your take on death as a force of beelance is just beetiful! It also kind of justifies why a beelance lobeer like you feels identified with death. Go grey!

I'm really happy about habeeng contributed, and not only in naming and helping you design the good doctor. I'm happy about beeing able to bring you smile, a joke is not a joke if no one laughs!

A wise man once said that ''humor will save the world''

I'm not joking when I say this is the man (Link Deleted [Sorry])

Seriously, that's him, ''El Gran Gustaf'' interpreting one of his characters ''Abeijón''

Anyway, I'm glad to see the humor actually helping you :)

I like the story a lot, I can't wait to read your next story, ''The Angel's Acolyte''

This cliffhanger is probably gonna kill me, so many answers bring so many other questions!

I think that's all, I hope this little praise fuels your writing as much as that ATP's life fueled Max's strength.

Keep going this way, I'm sure you still have more stories worth of beeing told in that head of yours :)]

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Alias-Maxima: For his editing skills and support.

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Spirit: For his support and showing me other sites that I can post my work on.

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Alias-Maxima and Spirt: For encouraging me to post my work on this website and giving me advice and accepting me into the Madness Revolution.

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Willy Scagels: For showing me his work and asking for my advice and also for his support.

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Drak: For his support and his sometimes confusing questions that make me smile when I see them.

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A Random Bystander: For his kind words and his support on the story.

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Moderator of the Project Nexus Two forum, Sean Glover: For his support and moderating the forums so that I don't have to wade through spam and a whole bunch of bots to get the real people that contribute to the site.

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Mechaelite: For his support on the Forums and his role-play adventure game that I spent so many hours enjoying.

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Dan Reaper: For reading the story and his support on the forums

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Escapistelitist: For reading the story and his support on the forums

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isaenz1: For reading the story and his support on the forums

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TheScouter1542: For following, favoriting and writing a review for the story on the 11th of May and the 11th of June (Hope you've enjoyed the story, hope you enjoy the next one more!)

[His Review: The fic is quite good, man. Just some spelling errors, but it's awesome!]

[His Review (June): If I ever say that I don't like this story, then I have gone mad. Keep up the good work!]

* * *

A huge thank you to the members of the M:PN2 Forums: You contributions to the site are always interesting and I am glad to of see the community grow as it has been.

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Finally: A big thank you to all who have read the story: Please write a review so I can have another name to put on the list above ;).

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Oh, crap, almost forgot: A thank you to my friends and family that don't read my work at all, but show their support all the same.


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